


taste every fire and hold every song

by Anonymous



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Anal Plug, Caleb and Essek both get to snap as a treat, Choking, Claiming Jewelry, Creating spells, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Degradation, Dissociation, Emetophobia, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Empire Kids research time, Erotic Surgery, Essek's brain is a mess sorry, Extremely Dubious Consent, Face-Fucking, Fantasy Racism, Flashbacks, Gaslighting, Grinding, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Master/Slave, Masturbation, Memory Alteration, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Character Death, Misuses of Dunamancy, Murder, Object Insertion, Object Penetration, Oral Sex, Public Masturbation, Public Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Self-Hatred, Sex Party, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Sleep Deprivation, Spoilers for Episode 97, Stockholm Syndrome, Strap-Ons, Trans Caleb Widogast, Trans Essek Thelyss, Trans Male Character, Undercover Missions, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Verbal Humiliation, Vivisection, Vomiting, Whipping, Whump, use of anti-drow slurs, wobbly POV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:15:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23089210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The Mighty Nein formulate a plan to take down the Cerberus Assembly once and for all. The Cobalt Soul requires information before that can happen, and Caleb and Essek offer to infiltrate through an underground party, with Essek posing as Caleb's sex slave. For a while it seems the plan is working perfectly and then things take a turn for the worse and Essek is left to wonder if he really knows Caleb at all.
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Bren Aldric Ermendrud, Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 61
Kudos: 195
Collections: anonymous





	1. eat all your ashes again

**Author's Note:**

> Caleb and Essek are both trans men in this fic. I am a trans man myself. I use more masculine-coded words when talking about Caleb's junk but I tend to use more feminine-coded language for Essek.  
> Shout out to the Shadowgast server for enabling the darkest parts of me, I love you guys.
> 
> Title is from "Good Morning Fire Eater" by Copeland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "Despicable Animal" by Wye Oak
> 
> This chapter isn't terrible, but as this fic progresses it will get very dark, so PLEASE read the tags and enter at your own risk. Stay safe, and if I haven't scared you off yet, enjoy!
> 
> Oh forgot to mention!! This chapter was beta read by BexLibris! Please check out her stuff, she's an excellent author: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BexLibris/pseuds/BexLibris

The plan is simple, if a little ridiculous. Essek’s dealings with the Cerberus Assembly had been few and far between and when the plan had first been suggested, he was sure they’d see through it immediately. However, he trusts Caleb almost instinctively with this matter. Caleb, who was once deeply entrenched within the Assembly and never forgets a thing. Essek imagines it must be a blessing and a curse to have a mind like that. He knows how useful it can be for the Mighty Nein, but he also knows Caleb’s trauma regarding the Assembly is still as fresh in his mind as if it had happened mere days ago. Essek aches at the thought, that Caleb is willing to return to the depths of the Assembly-- they both know it’s the only way the plan will work, but the thought tears at him nonetheless. Luckily, Caleb won’t have to suffer the same humiliation that Essek will in this plan.

The outfit had been a combined effort of the Mighty Nein, mostly Jester and Beau, with a lot of very awkward input from Caleb. Each piece had been carefully selected with the Empire, and particularly the Assembly, in mind. Essek feels absurd in it, but Caleb had assured him with a measure of discomfort that this was the sort of thing guests wore to these strange underground functions. He feels vulnerable in it, though that’s sort of the point. The collar and shoulder decorations are made of light metal that doesn’t strain or dig into his shoulders, a touch reminiscent of his former mantle as a “humiliating reminder” of Caleb’s ownership. The leash clipped to the collar hangs loosely, the other end held in Caleb’s fidgeting hand. The leather straps of the harness criss-cross his body in sharp, alluring lines, the jewelry hanging from them clinking together as he moves. The robe bottoms are silky, made of thinner material than most robes he’s owned, red and marked with the symbol of the Assembly. The most uncomfortable part, in his opinion, has to be the thin pieces of metal that cover his nipples, the only thing keeping them visible from the world as his small breasts hang free. Well, those, and the plug. The plug had been an awkward last minute addendum by Caleb, who had not wanted Jester or Beau to know of it. He had apologized profusely as he proffered it, explaining that it was common, a form of claiming that makes it clear he is not meant for anyone else.

_ “I know it is not the most comfortable thing to be wearing in public,” Caleb had said, holding the orange glass object out to him with a sheepish expression, “but it will be better for you in the long run if you do not want strangers touching you.” Essek had bitten his lip hard. _

_ “Yes, I would certainly prefer that no one but you touches me,” he had replied, taking it. _

He had put it in himself about an hour ago and it isn’t exactly heavy but it has a clear weight to it that means its presence is never far from his mind.

“So you remember the plan?” Caleb asks. He looks severe and handsome in something similar to his old uniform, his hair pulled into a tight bun at the nape of his neck and his face clean-shaven. Bless him, Essek has never seen him more anxious. His entire body is shaking, just a little, and Essek has half a mind to attempt some semblance of comfort. It may not be well-received, he decides, given the circumstances.

“Yes,” he says softly, “unless the plan has changed since you asked ten minutes ago.”

“Twelve,” Caleb corrects, scratching at his arm through the thick fabric of his coat. Essek frowns and places a hand over his knuckles, preventing him from scratching despite the fabric in the way. “Thank you.” Caleb dons a pair of leather gloves and the shake in his hands becomes less obvious.

“You’re sure you can handle this?” A bitter laugh.

“I will be fine, I just need time to slip back into that… persona, as it were. So reiterate the plan to me, please.” Essek wants to argue but he knows this is probably what Caleb needs to calm down, so he clicks his tongue and repeats the plan, as they had outlined with the more strategy-savvy members of the Nein a week prior.

“You, Bren Aldric Ermendrud, are returning victorious to the Cerberus Assembly after years of healing and self-discovery.” He tries to ignore how Caleb flinches at the name as it leaves his mouth. “Two months ago, I, Shadowhand Essek Thelyss, admitted to you and the rest of your traveling group that I was a traitor to the Dynasty, working for the Assembly, and that I was prepared to betray them for you. You stole me away in the night, displeased with my admittance but realizing I was your perfect opportunity to return to the Assembly. You spent most of your time breaking me and turning me into a perfect sex slave in preparation for one of the Assembly’s more obscene underground parties, during which you would reveal yourself in a triumphant homecoming. We will stay within this charade as long as it takes for you to find the information the Cobalt Soul needs and then you will contact the rest of the Mighty Nein to help take down the Assembly once and for all. Did I get everything?” Caleb nods slowly.

“And you are-- ah-- prepared for anything I may ask you to do at this party and beyond?” Essek would have to be dense to not realize he means sex acts-- they had discussed it, though not much further than the fact that he would have to do them. Essek had delegated not to inform Caleb that he was a virgin. It didn’t really matter anyway, and the Kryn did not carry the same concept of virginity that the Empire did, but he had assumed Caleb would be horrified if he had known, and there was no point in making the man feel any more guilty than he already did. Besides, Essek was more than content with Caleb being his first. He had never imagined it in these particular circumstances, but that was alright. They had danced around their feelings for each other for a while now, but it felt stupid to bring them up now. Later would be better. This was business, a carefully-crafted ploy to infiltrate a dangerous organization and bring them down. Bringing feelings into the matter was not only stupid, it was dangerous.

Caleb seems to have settled at least a little, he’s walking with some measure of confidence and the leash is held more tightly in his hand.

“Remember to call me Bren,” he says. “Keep your hands behind your back and follow any command I give. If I go too far, squeeze my calf and I’ll do my best to remedy the situation without revealing ourselves.” Essek nods curtly and tucks his arms behind his back. He adjusts his posture to be more submissive, trailing a little behind Caleb so it seems as though he’s being led.

They had teleported outside of Rexxentrum, near to where Caleb said the party would be taking place, and had begun their walk in mid-afternoon. Essek’s outfit and face was carefully concealed under a long travelling cloak, but the collar poked out of it and the leash dangled past its closures. Anyone looking on would be able to recognize a man of power leading his slave-- it is just easier to pass through if he was not obviously a drow upon first glance. Caleb keeps glancing nervously at him, as though afraid he will bolt.

“Something the matter?” He asks, tilting his head a little towards Caleb. Caleb swallows. 

“You will likely need to remove the cloak soon,” he says gently, apology rife in his tone. “You are still-- I mean, this is still alright?”

“I would not have agreed to it otherwise.” Caleb huffs out a frustrated breath.

“I know, but agreeing to something and going through with it are often different.”

“Perhaps. However, I trust you, and I trust that you will not hurt me or push me too far. This mission is important, not only to me and you, but to many others.” Caleb nods and Essek sees some of the tension leave his shoulders. He squares them, however, as they approach the ostentatious wrought-iron gates of a large home.

“Remember the rules and the boundaries we drew,” Caleb murmurs, turning a little his way. “I’m going to remove the cloak now.” Essek nods, tight-lipped, and straightens his neck out to allow Caleb access to the clasps. Caleb undoes them deftly and Essek stores the cloak in his pocket dimension. Caleb blinks, suddenly, and his face reddens. “Sorry,” he chokes, “I had-- ah-- forgotten exactly what the outfit consisted of.”

“Yes,” Essek sighs, glancing down at his own mostly bare torso, “I rather had too. Give yourself a moment to adjust, it won’t do us well if you are a flustered mess around your  _ slave _ .” Caleb nods and takes a few shaky breaths as his face takes on a slightly less crimson shade before cooling to its normal pale shade.

“Right then,” Caleb says, taking the leash in his hand and slipping into an authoritative posture. Essek shifts back into his submissive stance and the two look each other over for a moment. “Let us continue,  _ Kätzchen _ .” His voice is a touch deeper, his accent a bit more pronounced on purpose. Essek is rather loathe to admit it, given the circumstances, but seeing and hearing Caleb act like this makes heat stir in his gut. He imagines it won’t be hard to act aroused despite the situation they find themselves in.

There is a guard at the gate who looks the two of them up and down with an inscrutable expression. Essek is careful not to make eye contact with him, keeping his head obediently tilted down.

“State your name and business.”

“Bren Aldric Ermendrud.” Caleb says smoothly, something long-lost smouldering anew in his eyes. “I doubt I am technically on the guest list, but given the circumstances and what company I bring…” He tugs sharply on Essek’s leash and Essek stumbles a little, shrinking in on himself further. Caleb smirks. “Let the Martinet make his decision, I suppose.” The guard raises a brow and cups his mouth in his hands, turning toward the mansion. There’s a moment of quiet muttering and then a moment’s pause and the guard turns back to them. For a moment Essek is sure it won’t work, that they’ll be refused or worse, killed, but a crude smile draws across the guard’s face as he looks them over again.

“Enter,” the guard says, stepping aside as the gate opens. Essek blinks, surprised, and allows himself to be led through the gate. There’s a shifting of movement behind him and he feels Caleb jerk to the side. He must not be quick enough, as Essek feels a rough hand grope his backside. He flinches and quashes his need to retaliate or respond in any way, but Caleb has already cast something, the small, straight piece of iron in his free hand indicating a simple  _ Hold Person _ . He tugs Essek gently out of reach of the guard’s grasping hand. 

“You would do well not to touch what isn’t yours.” Caleb says coldly. “I have been kind by leaving you with your hand today, in part because I am a guest in this house, but make no mistake. If you lay a hand on him again, I do not care what retribution will find me, I have tamed him fair and square and I am  _ quite _ possessive of my pets.” Essek tries to ignore the fact that his smallclothes are already a little damp and follows Caleb without a glance back. Caleb releases the spell with a flick of his hand and tucks the component back into his pocket, leading Essek forward with a stiffer posture than before. He hears the gate swing shut and a huff of annoyance from the guard, but nothing else.

“Are you alright?” Caleb asks under his breath, his hard expression melting with concern.

“I am fine,” Essek says, “I suppose that just prepares me for what I will experience inside.”

“No,” Caleb says firmly, “No one else will touch you, I will make sure of that. This experience is already uncomfortable for you, I will do my best to ensure it isn’t any more uncomfortable than necessary.” He leaves it at that. Caleb reaches over and gently squeezes his hand and then repostures, squaring his shoulders again, and then they’re in front of the door. 

Essek has never been to Ludinus Da’leth’s actual home, but he isn’t surprised to learn that it is disgustingly opulent. The front door itself is a large and imposing structure of dark-stained wood, with a hellhound door knocker cast in what appears to be mithral. Caleb clears his throat and reaches up to knock solidly on the door. The hellhound’s eyes alight with a pale green glow. Caleb flinches. “Residuum,” he breathes. Essek resists the urge to snort. What a pretentious bastard, using such expensive materials for his fucking  _ door knocker. _

There’s a flurry of movement behind the door before it swings open. Essek can feel Caleb brace for whoever opens the door but it’s not someone either of them recognize, a thin elven girl with long dark hair. Essek realizes with a wave of nausea that based off her size and face shape, she probably hasn’t finished her first century, and here she stands in a thin robe, clearly a slave like himself. 

“Welcome,” she says in a faint voice, “my master has been expecting you.” She steps aside and Caleb-- Bren, he reminds himself now that they’re nearly inside, nods curtly and steps inside. Essek follows behind, grateful for the sudden plushness of carpet under his bare feet. “The party is in the Martinet’s subterranean ballroom,” the girl says. They both know better than to ask her name or try to make small talk as she leads them through the winding hallways and down a spiral staircase. Essek can hear the music and chatter growing louder as they descend, accompanied with the sweet, nigh cloying scent of wine. Caleb’s grip on the leash is unfaltering now, and it’s only due to his proximity that Essek can sense the nearly imperceptible tremble that wracks his body. He bumps his hip gently against Caleb’s and feels his body relax slightly, not enough to lose the dominating posture but enough that he doesn’t seem taut as a bowstring. Essek falls back into step behind him, ducking his head in a careful display of subservience. They reach the bottom of the spiral staircase and onto a platform. Across the way is another spiral staircase and to their left is a straight, broad staircase that opens into an enormous ball room. The ceiling is adorned with several arcanely-lit chandeliers connected to one central chandelier that throws the room into shades of amber and rose. The scene below is about what Essek had expected-- a mix of clothed and nude figures engaged in conversation, dance, and several lewd acts. He swallows and the collar shifts slightly against his throat.

Ludinus approaches them first as they descend the stairs, dressed in simpler blue robes than his usual. He sweeps the elven girl aside and she stands deferentially behind him, eyes cast down. 

“ _ Herr _ Ermendrud,” he greets with a wicked smile. He waves his hand in an arcane gesture, most likely attempting to dispel any sort of illusion around either of them. When nothing is dropped, his smile twists a little. “It truly is you. When Noah told me your name I was sure it was someone masquerading as you.” He assumes Noah must be the handsy guard.

“ _ Nein _ , it is me,” Caleb says with a flash of teeth, “in the flesh.”

“So it is. Am I expected to believe you’ve changed so drastically, though? Mere months ago you were still parading around with that mercenary group, the-- ah-- Mighty Nein, was it?”

“Indeed,” Caleb’s smile turns predatory. “I was with them, yes, but only because I needed an opportunity to return. They served their purpose, helping me grow in some of the ways I needed to, but spending time with them only made me realize what I truly craved was power. You can help me with that, yes?”

“Always, it is what we do best. Now, Ermendrud, when you say you needed an  _ opportunity _ …?” Ludinus trails off, looking pointedly at Essek. Essek keeps his head down despite the pairs of eyes trained on him.

“Yes, Martinet. I am sure you remember Shadowhand Essek Thelyss? Or perhaps it would be more fitting to call him  _ Lord Desren Thane _ ?” Ludinus’ smile curls up at the corners in a way that makes Essek’s stomach roil.

“Ah, so I see.” Essek feels fingers under his chin, lifting his eyes to level with Ludinus’, though he averts his gaze immediately. “What sort of trouble have you gotten yourself in,  _ Thelyss _ ?” His voice hisses on Essek’s den name. Essek does not flinch and keeps his eyes on the ground and his hands folded behind his back. “You have him quite well trained, it is  _ impressive _ . You always were a particularly stubborn crick, were you not, Essek? Pretty as well, though, and you certainly capitalized on that.” Ludinus and Caleb share a laugh and for a moment Ludinus’ thumb brushes along Essek’s lips with the intent to press into his mouth before Caleb stops him with a word and a firm hand on his arm.

“Martinet. I have no desire to share.” Ludinus frowns.

“You remember the rules of the parties, I assume?”

“Naturally, and he is marked as mine alone. You would not violate the rules of your own function, would you, Martinet?” Essek’s mind strays to the plug inside him, the mark he is Caleb’s alone, and he breathes a silent sigh of relief as Ludinus steps away to stand next to the elf girl.

“Of course not. Pity, though. You will have to thoroughly ruin him tonight, I have always wondered what the Bright Queen’s uptight little Shadowhand looks like after someone’s had their way with him.” Caleb chuckles and tugs Essek closer to him.

“That’s why we’re here, is it not?” Ludinus’ smile is nothing short of carnivorous. Caleb’s is uncomfortably similar.

“It certainly is.”

\---

Ikithon, it appears, is not at the party, nor are either of Caleb’s former classmates. Caleb breathes a sigh of relief at this, though they both know their absence from the plan won’t last. The rest of their fake story had come out at intervals and as far as Essek could tell, they bought it. They both knew, however, that they could not get away with talking forever. At Ludinus’ goading, the two of them end up on one of the many raised platforms in the ballroom with Caleb seated in a large, throne-like chair and Essek at his feet. Caleb reaches down and removes Essek’s robe bottom, laying it across the back of the chair and leaving Essek utterly exposed. Well, no going back now, he supposes. It’s a bit awkward to arrange themselves, but after a moment or two, Essek is settled comfortably between Caleb’s legs on his knees, his face at height with Caleb’s groin. Caleb lets the leash sit slack in his hand and Essek leans forward a little.

“Slave,” Caleb says with an air of imperiousness, “pleasure me.” He spreads his legs before Essek’s face and despite himself, Essek feels heat bloom in his stomach. 

“As you wish, master,” he replies in a sufficiently tremulous tone. He sets to undoing the fastenings of Caleb’s Empire trousers-- a bit less complicated than Dynasty trousers, he finds. The ties come undone surprisingly easily and Essek eases them down Caleb’s hips as much as possible without having Caleb lift himself off the chair. 

He expects to find smallclothes, but it appears Caleb decided to forgo them for this endeavor. He tries to ignore how hot that is. He is a little surprised to find not a proper cock, but parts a little more like his, glistening with slick already. Caleb’s cock is a little larger than his, likely due to potions he’s read about, and flushed beautiful and red before his eyes. He licks his lips and leans in, mouthing carefully at Caleb’s folds and tucking his hands behind his back like a good servant. Caleb groans above him, a lovely and deep sound that strikes a match in Essek’s core. He laps dutifully, cleaning the existing slick from Caleb’s cunt with careful, broad, strokes before sucking Caleb’s cock into his mouth. Caleb moans and tugs on the leash, pressing Essek’s nose and mouth into his cunt. Essek whimpers, already impossibly turned on. 

“Careful,  _ meine kleines Spielzeug _ ,” Caleb mutters. “You work at my command,  _ ja _ ?” Essek cannot respond verbally and gives a little nod into Caleb’s cunt. “ _ Gut. _ ” Caleb releases him and he sets to lapping at Caleb’s folds again, ignoring his cock despite how it twitches beautifully near his eye-level. “You have always been enamoured with my cock. Is that why you truly left your home in the Dynasty, because you were too obsessed with it like the little whore you are? It is a good thing I allow you to have it, is it not?” Essek doesn’t know if he expects him to answer and whines quietly into Caleb’s cunt. “You think I should remove that plug, let the others have their way with you? Or perhaps invite others to join us? Would you like that?” His voice is low and calm, as if reciting a spell by rote. Essek whines again and Caleb yanks the leash hard, pulling Essek away from his cunt. His free hand grips Essek’s chin, messy with slick and saliva. Caleb’s eyes are terribly gentle and so afraid. Essek swallows, knowing he’s meant to say something but unsure how to respond, and then Caleb’s hand releases his chin and he slaps Essek across the face. The pain is bright and jarring, throwing stars into his vision. “Answer me,  _ whore _ ,” he hisses. “Should I invite others to join us?” Essek blinks, surprised at the pain and the look on Caleb’s face. He briefly debates squeezing Caleb’s calf, but he’s fine. This is nothing he can’t handle.

“I-- no, master,” he replies. “I want only your cock.” Caleb’s hand is immediately cool and soothing on his cheek.

“ _ Gut _ . You may continue.”

The rest of the room has fallen away now, Essek’s brain focused only on the beautiful, imposing man above and in front of him. He settles in to lap at Caleb’s folds again, attentive and gentle.

“You may suck my cock now,” Caleb says after another minute or two of this.

“Thank you,” Essek murmurs. He sucks it hard, rolling it between his lips gently, and Caleb shakes and pants above him.

“Good little  _ Schlampe _ ,” he moans, petting Essek’s hair. Essek preens under the touch and praise. It only takes a few more minutes of sucking for Caleb to come hard, bucking his hips into Essek’s mouth. “ _ Gut gemacht _ ,” he says, petting Essek’s hair a little before seizing it in his fist, “now clean up your mess.” Essek does so without complaint, cleaning the remaining slick from Caleb’s cunt while carefully avoiding his sensitive cock. He can’t help but moan a little in spite of, or perhaps because of, the rough treatment. Caleb is normally so careful, so gentle, but Bren is cruel and sharp, and Essek finds he sort of likes being manhandled by him. He finishes cleaning Caleb up and Caleb releases the tight grip on his hair. He sits back obediently on his heels, relishing the slight sting in his scalp and the tang of Caleb’s slick in his mouth. “Lovely. Put me away, slave.” Essek does back up the ties of Caleb’s trousers and adjusts the waistband to settle at the right point on his hips. He waits silently as Caleb rises from the chair. Ludinus claps to the right of them.

“Well, Ermendrud, that was quite the show. A bit tame for my tastes, but still. It seems he enjoys what you make him do, perhaps a bit too much. How did you achieve that?” It’s due to Ludinus’ teasing that Essek realizes he’s so wet that some of his slick has dripped onto the floor. Perhaps he should be embarrassed, but his brain is so clouded with arousal that he can barely pay his shame any mind. He tilts his head to lay it comfortably on Caleb’s thigh. Caleb laughs and tugs roughly on his leash and Essek stumbles onto his hands and knees. He strokes the curve of Essek’s cheek with one finger and his gaze shifts from Essek to Ludinus.

“Well, Martinet. I have come to learn that sex is a powerful motivator for the profoundly lonely. If there was one thing I learned early on about Essek Thelyss it is that he has always been alone. I could gather he was likely starved of touch and affection and craved structure in his life. I broke him, yes, but I also gave him those things, and for that he rewards me with his enthusiasm.” One finger turns into a warm hand cupping his cheek and Essek sighs, nuzzling into it. “Essek,” Caleb says in a clear voice. Essek blinks, looking up at him. “Touch yourself.” Essek whimpers and immediately reaches his hand between his legs to rub his clit with desperate, shaking fingers. Caleb’s hand pulls back and he whines at the loss of contact. Caleb snaps his fingers at a servant carrying a platter full of wine glasses and takes one of the glasses from her plate, sipping it as he watches Essek through hooded lids. He watches carefully, and as Essek feels himself approaching orgasm, Caleb’s clear voice rings out again. “Stop.” Essek freezes and pulls his hand away from himself.

“Impressive,” Ludinus notes with a raised brow, “The Thelyss I remember was an obstinate bastard if I ever knew one. To see him so docile is quite the feat. I wonder whether your methods could be effective on other cricks.” Caleb simply smiles and sips his wine. Essek ducks his head in a show of submission despite the disgust that spikes through him at Ludinus’ words.

“Who would you have in mind, Ludinus? A simple Echo Knight? Or would your aspirations soar as high as taming the Bright Queen herself?” Ludinus laughs jovially, nearly sloshing his own glass of wine.

“Ah, a smart man never shows his cards, Ermendrud.”

“Fair enough,” Caleb says, winking and tipping his wineglass in Ludinus’ direction. He turns back to Essek. “ _ Meine süße Hure _ ,” he croons, lifting Essek’s chin with his finger, “finger yourself, and cum for me?” Immediately, Essek’s fingers are back to rubbing at his clit, desperate and wet. He finds no resistance as he presses first one, then two fingers deep inside himself, rocking against his palm. He can feel the plug pressing against his fingers from the inside and he swallows a moan at that. With Caleb looking down at him like that, it only takes a few minutes for him to come unravelled with a small sob. Caleb laughs, a bright and joyful noise. “I think you may need someone to clean your floors after that little show, Martinet.” Ludinus hums.

“ He could clean it up a little himself, don’t you agree?” Caleb hums as well, tilting his head to look at Essek, as though gauging how much more he’s willing to do. 

“Essek,” he says, cool and quiet, “clean your mess off the floor.” Essek swallows, the embarrassment filling him now that his brain is no longer clouded by arousal, but he does as he’s told. His knees ache as he stoops to the floor, licking his slick from the marble tiles and trying not to think too hard. When he’s done, Caleb’s hand strokes through his hair again, fond but detached. “ _ Gut gemacht _ . Martinet, if I could make a request?” Ludinus seems stunned, watching Essek lift his head from the floor, as if he had not expected Essek to go through with it. He snaps to attention when Caleb speaks.

“Yes?”

“Is there some kind of temporary housing we could use that operates through the Assembly? I intend to buy a house here in the Candles once I get the chance, but you must understand I am a tad picky.” Ludinus straightens up and nods as Caleb stands, leading Essek on hands and knees across the floor.

“Yes, yes of course. I will let Ikithon know you will be arriving soon.” Essek hopes he’s the only one who notices Caleb’s flinch.

\---

Within the hour, the two of them are ushered to one of the Cerberus Assembly’s headquarter buildings, where a few guest rooms are kept, mainly for mages staying for a short time to do research within the building. It’s surprisingly nice for such a room, with a four-poster bed fitted with dark red sheets. There is a convenient chain on one of the walls that Caleb trades Essek’s leather leash for. Ludinus informs them Trent will arrive in the morning to discuss arrangements, and that for the night they should rest.

“The show you gave tonight was quite delightful,” Ludinus says, hovering in the doorway, “pray you do not get stage fright in the weeks to come.” Caleb gives him a sardonic grin and a little wave as he chains Essek to the wall by his collar. Caleb listens carefully to the footsteps receding and as soon as he’s decided they’re quiet enough he drops to his knees, cupping Essek’s face in his hands.

“I am sorry,  _ es tut mir leid _ , Essek, I am so sorry,” he babbles, fumbling to remove the collar. Essek relaxes, the tension leaving his shoulders. 

“It is alright, Caleb, I promise.”

“I did not push you too far?” There are warm hands on his neck as the collar is removed, gently rubbing his collarbones and shoulders. “It was alright?”

“No, it was fine,” Essek promises, leaning his head on Caleb’s shoulder, “it was fine, I am simply exhausted.”

A few minutes later they are both laid on the bed, Caleb gently stroking Essek’s hair and mumbling a continued litany of apologies while Essek assures him it’s alright, he was only doing what he had to.

“I am sorry, you likely will have to sleep on the floor,” Caleb says, rubbing his arms, “I suppose it may be better for an elf, though.” Essek nods. 

“I can trance in nearly any position. I will sit on the floor and it will be alright.” He removes the plug before he does so, prestidigitating it clean with a flush of shame through his body before tucking it into his pocket dimension. He assumes it will no longer be required, and Caleb had returned the robe bottoms to him after the party, so he already feels better. 

“I will get you something more comfortable to wear in the morning,” Caleb slurs, his hand dangling over the side of the bed to grasp Essek’s. Essek squeezes his hand once and carefully kisses the knuckles.

“I will hold you to that,  _ ta'ecelle _ ,” he murmurs, but Caleb is already asleep.

\---

In the morning, Caleb leaves early to speak with Trent one on one. Essek casts Fortune’s Favor on him before he leaves, a gentle reminder he is not alone. In Caleb’s absence, Essek busies himself making the bed and then tracing glyphs on the floor until he’s sure he’s traced every glyph in his spellbook. Caleb returns about an hour after leaving. He’s sure Caleb could tell him how long it had been down to the minute, but he feels his approximation is probably fair.

“How did it go?” he asks. He doesn’t notice any sort of tremor in Caleb’s body and he counts that as a win.

“Fine,” Caleb replies, “He simply asked how long I intended to stay here and what my plans for the future regarding the Assembly were.” Essek nods.

“Sounds like things are going according to plan.”

“Ja,” Caleb says, his expression oddly calculating. It sends a shiver down Essek’s spine, though he’s tempted to blame it on the drafty room and his revealing attire. “All according to plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zemnian/Undercommon Translations:  
> Zemnian:  
> Kätzchen - kitten  
> meine kleines Spielzeug - my little toy  
> Schlampe - slut  
> Gut gemacht - good work  
> Meine süße Hure - my darling/sweet whore  
> es tut mir leid - I am sorry
> 
> Undercommon:  
> ta'ecelle - sunlight


	2. burn this house down while you're tied to its walls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read updated tags!! This chapter is the peak of the dark shit and I don't want anyone entering without knowing what they're about to experience!!  
> This chapter is also a little bit of a mess, but that's largely because Essek's headspace is a mess. I apologize if the name flipping gets confusing but in my defense, it's supposed to be confusing.
> 
> Chapter title from "Sledge Hammer" by Squalloscope.

The next week plays out for Essek similar to the party. True to his word, Caleb had gotten Essek new clothes the morning after the party. They’re nothing like Essek’s preferred attire of course, but it’s enough-- a simple dark red tunic and a pair of thin black leggings. His feet stay bare and the metal collar is around his neck at all times, though the mantle-like ornamentation has been removed now. The members of the Assembly not present at the Martinet’s party are still eager to see the results of Essek’s ‘training’, so the two of them spend the week being paraded around. Cruel words are thrown at Essek left and right while Caleb-- or, Bren, rather, is praised. Essek has begun to separate them subconsciously, even though he knows logically that they are one and the same. Bren is the one who walks him around on a leash, the one who fucks him with a harness and fake cock over the edge of a table and leaves him there untouched with trembling knees, the one who calls him ‘whore’ and ‘toy’ and assumedly worse things in Zemnian. Caleb is the one who apologizes and rubs his sore shoulders in the privacy of their room, the one who strokes Essek’s hair as he drifts into trance, the one who kisses his forehead when he needs to be reminded that he isn’t an object to be used and discarded. Were it not for these soft moments, Essek would have a mind to be afraid. Caleb plays the part of Bren well, is cruel and indifferent when he needs to be, so much so that the softness he displays afterward feels uncanny. Essek feels, sometimes, like he is getting a glimpse into another timeline, one where Caleb never broke, and it frightens him more than he cares to admit.

Today, at the goading of Vess Derogna, Bren had chained him to a pillar and whipped him near bloody, making him count the lashes until he could not speak from hoarseness and then releasing the chains and fucking him into the floor until his entire body ached. In the private of their room, Caleb is frenzied, near tears making sure he is alright, offering a balm since he has no healing spells at his disposal. Essek’s brain feels fuzzy but he manages to refuse.

“It would make no sense,” he reminds Caleb, rubbing his shoulder gently. 

“ _ Ja _ , I know. I am sorry, I know you are probably very sore. I wish I did not need to be so rough, but you know it would be obvious if I were to hold back.” Essek huffs out a quiet breath and feels his chest ache. This is just as painful for Caleb as it is for him. Perhaps not physically, but being unkind like this is not in Caleb’s nature, and Essek cannot imagine what it must be doing to his already damaged psyche.

“Are you any closer to finding what the Cobalt Soul needs?” Essek asks, and Caleb’s face darkens a little.

“Not really,” he says. He doesn’t elaborate.

\---

Jester messages him. It’s been about two and a half weeks now and he is sitting alone in his and Bren’s room, bruised and exhausted. Bren has been gone about two hours, off discussing something with his former classmates, he’s unsure what. Perhaps they’re just catching up. He’s tracing his fingers in glyph patterns when he feels a soft hum in his subconscious, a clear sign he’s receiving a Sending spell message.

“Hi Essek! Uhhhm. Just figured we should check in since Caleb said it would take him about two weeks. Do you know if he's ready?” The constraints of the spell cut her off, or he suspects she would have more to say.

“Hello, Jester. Thank you, but no, I do not think Br-- ah--  _ Caleb  _ has what he needs yet. Feel free to check in again soon.” He swallows and tries to ignore the voice in his head that tells him that was a chance to cry for help and he squandered it 

\---

Caleb is more distant now. There are still some days, after Bren has been particularly rough, that he will be tender and kind with Essek afterward, but these times become few and far between. He’s busy, often pulled away by other mages after he’s used Essek. He leaves Essek chained to the wall in his room more often than not. Essek craves those moments now, finds himself yearning for that kindness on days when his body and heart are both left aching and raw. Sometimes these moments now end in sex, slow and gentle, but sex nonetheless, and Essek isn’t sure when Bren and Caleb bled together in his mind. Sometimes when Caleb kisses him he feels his stomach drop and sometimes when Bren kisses him he’s sure he’s in love. It’s a funny thing, to realize how afraid he is, and yet how unwilling he is to do a single thing about it.

\---

Sometimes when they have sex, Bren will ask him if he wants him to be gentle or rough. Essek always says rough because he knows (he knows, he knows and it aches) that if he says gentle, it will remind him of Caleb and he will break, just a little.

\---

Bren fucks him into the bed and holds his hair in his fist.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, kissing Essek’s shoulder. 

“Yours,” Essek croaks as tears slip from his eyes. Caleb releases his hair and strokes it gently as his thrusts slow to a grind that leaves Essek breathless and presses the leather of Bren’s harness against the back of his thighs. “I love you,” Essek whispers into the bedsheets. Bren doesn’t respond, but Caleb kisses his shoulder again.

\---

Further into his time at the Cerberus Assembly, Essek learns by visceral example that slaves are quite common in the Assembly, and mainly disposable. He and Bren are sitting in on a magical demonstration led by a younger mage whom Essek has never interacted with. The mage seems cruel in his eagerness to please his peers as he gestures to a young man spread on a sort of operating table in the center of the room. 

“Dunamancy, the magic from the Dynasty, was once out of the scope of our control. However, we now have access to more information about it through the Luxon beacons and the dutiful research done on them.” Essek’s heart is pounding and there’s blood rushing loudly in his ears. “Some of the research conducted has been quite useful in developing more elegant torture methods-- with time and space under your manipulation, you can expand one moment to feel like hours or make a second repeat over and over.”  _ No, no, no, no, no, no _ . “So if, for example, I stab my pet here...” The slave on the table is sobbing but there’s a gag shoved in his mouth so all Essek can hear is panicked huffs of breath. The young mage is holding a dagger now, and with it he cuts lines into the slave’s torso before plunging it just to the left of the heart. There’s a noise as the mage casts something and Essek is stuck staring at the young slave on the table struggling for breath as pinkish blood bubbles from the wounds in his chest. His lung is ruined, he’s breathing all wrong, he’s going to die, and Essek’s ears are ringing. The spell seems to not work, the mage too inexperienced with Dunamancy, perhaps, or maybe he was just overzealous. 

The slave is choking and sobbing now, desperately trying to stay conscious while blood and precious oxygen escape his body too fast, too fast.

“Our grasp of Dunamancy is much better, isn’t it,  _ Liebling _ ?” Bren asks with a smirk. No acknowledgement of the man dying in front of them. Essek feels sick.

“They used the research on the beacons to do this.” He whispers, horrified. “My actions allowed for this to happen.”

Bren doesn’t respond.

When the presentation is over and the slave’s body is carted away, assumedly to be disposed of (or experimented on, but Essek tries not to think about that), the young mage walks over to the two of them. Essek is sitting at Bren’s feet, following him on hands and knees whenever he moves to engage in conversation. Bren sips his drink and regards the mage calmly.

“Something I can help you with?” He asks impassively.

“You are Ermendrud, right?” The mage asks, a wicked glint in his eyes. Bren nods. “And this is your pet, is that right? The Dynasty defector brought to his knees.” Bren laughs and pets Essek’s hair.

“He certainly is, and a lovely pet at that.” The mage laughs, taking a glass of his own and taking a long drink.

“Ah, you are too gentle with him. Pets need a rough hand sometimes, remind them why they’re here.” Bren’s smile grows sardonic, twitching with annoyance at the corner of his lip.

“What are you suggesting, Kraus? That I give my pet the same end as yours?”

“ _ Nein _ ,” the mage, Kraus, laughs again, waving his free hand in a careless fashion, “he was cheap and disposable to begin with. You have a rare gift here. All I am saying is that there are plenty of clerics here, and the Assembly keeps a stock of diamonds available for such occurrences. Worst case scenario, he’s more replaceable than you realize, crick or no.” Essek isn’t expecting the fist, which tells him Kraus wasn’t either. Bren’s fist connects with the other mage’s jaw, sending him sprawling, but almost as quick, Bren grabs Kraus’ collar and holds him at eye level. Kraus’ glass is shattered on the floor, sending a spill of dark red wine spattered across the tiles. There’s blood trickling from Kraus’ mouth, bright red and thinned with saliva. The look on Bren’s face is murderous.

“If you think I would waste  _ months  _ of hard work on a whim for a moment of sadistic pleasure, you don’t understand me at all. You should reconsider yourself and the man you work for. Another word from you on this subject and your fate will be worse than a simple blow to the face.” He releases Kraus’ collar and turns on his heel. “Come, pet.” He says.

That night, Caleb is back. There’s no sex, no roughness, instead Caleb pulls Essek into his arms and cries, stroking his hair and kissing every place he can reach with a tenderness Bren is incapable of. 

“I am so sorry,” Caleb whispers, “I am trying so hard to keep it together. I try to follow their whims to keep us alive, but you know I would never harm you so permanently, right? I would never trade your life like that. Do you trust me? Do you trust me, Essek?” Essek’s mind flashes to the slave sprawled on the table, soaked in blood and begging for his life, and Bren’s teasing at Kraus’ lack of control over Dunamancy.

And he does. He does, he does, he does.

\---

Weeks quickly become a month (though he only knows that for sure when Jester tells him), and Jester messages him again. He’s alone in Bren’s room again, waiting for him to return from research with other mages. Essek wishes he could sit in on that sort of thing, even barring the chance it might include Dunamancy again. The back of his skull hums, and he hears Jester’s voice like a drink of ice water, shockingly intense, but deeply soothing.

“Hi, Essek! Checking in again because it's been like, a month now. Do you know if Caleb is any closer? Also are you two okay?” He stifles a deep sigh.

“Hello again, Jester. Yes, we are fine. I do not know how close Caleb is to finding what he needs. My apologies.” 

The door swings open. Bren is holding a collar in his hands that thrums with arcane energy and Essek feels a pit in his stomach.

“Who were you talking to, pet?” He muses, a soft smile on his face. “Perhaps we should take care of that?”

“What do you mean?” He asks, quiet but panicked. “What are you going to do?” Bren sets the arcane collar aside and begins to undo the clasps of Essek’s usual collar.

“I just thought you were due for an upgrade,” Bren says, “this collar is the result of careful research, it is similar to one the Mighty Nein found in the Archmage’s Bane. Or the-- ah--  _ Happy Fun Ball _ , as they called it.” Essek is trying to process-- Bren has verbally separated himself from the Mighty Nein, but also, anything that comes from something called the Archmage’s Bane can’t be good.

“What does it do?” He asks softly, afraid. Bren smiles.

“See for yourself.” The collar clicks around his neck and he tries to ask again but his words are blocked. He blinks up at Bren, panicked, and tries to speak again but his mouth hangs open and the words don’t come. He tries to beg but the words are blocked, it’s like the vibrations die in his throat. Bren’s eyes glint. “It works perfectly, I see. Lovely.”

They find later, as Bren fucks Essek hard and fast, that the collar allows him to make noises, but never full words. Bren seems pleased with this and tells him how lovely he sounds as Essek sobs quietly and wordlessly under him.

\---

Bren may not be willing to kill him for simple pleasure, but it seems he is still curious about the research that’s already been done. Curious to see it for himself, perhaps. This is how Essek finds himself laid out on an operating table similar to the one from the presentation ( _ the one that other man died on _ , his brain supplies) with his arms and legs restrained, naked and terrified. Bren is hovering over him holding a small, sharp knife. He’s still silenced by the collar, though he occasionally releases small wounded noises like a trapped animal. In a way, he thinks, he sort of is.

“Where do you think I should start, pet?” Bren asks in a quiet, awful voice. 

An hour later Essek has screamed himself hoarse and Bren’s hands are soaked with Essek’s blood. It seems the beacon experiments have succeeded-- in the sense that Essek was never once close to death in all of Bren’s vivisecting. The extracted dunamis had held his body in stasis as Bren had cut into him, spread his ribs open and pulled his organs from his body with the meticulous care that he once admired in Caleb. Despite his own research on the beacons, he isn’t sure he understands it. It is, admittedly, a little difficult to think clearly when Bren is standing over him holding his heart in one hand while his other hand fishes around inside his chest cavity. Bren spends a few minutes tracing a glyph inside Essek’s chest before he grows bored. He leans over to kiss Essek instead. Essek sobs into his mouth and struggles against the bindings. His entire body burns with pain and he wishes Bren would let him die. Bren shushes him gently. 

“You are so beautiful,” Caleb murmurs. Bren examines his heart slowly, turning to organ over in his hand as his other hand strays to Essek’s cunt. Essek whines loudly as Bren’s blood-slick fingers ghost over his hole and clit, eyes locked on his. He buries two fingers in Essek’s cunt, a little dry but helped by the blood, and lifts Essek’s heart to his mouth to kiss it. Essek makes a noise that’s half disgust, half arousal and tries to squirm away from his fingers. Bren smiles and slowly licks Essek’s heart, the tip of his tongue tracing the vena cava as his fingers scissor inside Essek. He twists his fingers and presses his thumb hard against Essek’s clit and Essek comes, his thighs shaking around Bren’s wrist. It makes excitement and disgust and fear and shame all bubble together in Essek’s stomach and he whimpers and writhes as tears pour down his cheeks. Bren’s expression turns sorrowful. “Oh, that simply will not do,  _ Kätzchen _ .” He replaces the heart carefully in Essek’s chest and removes his fingers and steps back. Another mage enters and casts something, and Essek feels the pain recede, but it isn’t exactly like being healed. It’s more like he loops back through the pain, like his body is shifting back an hour in time. His broken ribs knit back together, quietly snapping into place, and all the blood that had poured out of him fills back in and his veins sew themselves shut. The sensations all blend together: the searing pain of being cut into, the pleasure of orgasm, the shame and the fear. It’s like vertigo and it leaves his entire body tingling and his head fuzzy. He realizes that Bren is quietly counting in Zemnian to his left.

“ _ Sechs, sieben, acht, neun…  _ ah, and it looks like you are back to us.” Bren’s smile is calculating, predatory. “How did that feel?” Essek glares at him. “Go on,  _ liebe _ , answer me.” The small smile grows to a full grin and Bren steps forward to cup his face and kiss him. Essek tries to squirm away, gasping and crying quietly. “You are incredible, Essek,” he murmurs, “so good for me.” 

He wishes he could hear that in another context, that it could mean what he wants it to, but there’s still the phantom pain of a blade in his sternum, and he aches.

\---

Time becomes blurry. Once, in a brief moment when the collar is off, he asks Bren how long they’ve been here. Bren just smiles.

“How long do you think it’s been?” Bren asks. Essek doesn’t answer, he doesn’t know how. His grasp of time is so fuzzy that he could not even guess. He hopes that it hasn’t been too long (has the Mighty Nein given up or are the messages directed to Bren now?), but he isn’t sure. He shakes his head and Bren raises an eyebrow. “Five months,” Bren says. Essek’s stomach sinks. He nods and curls in on himself as the collar is put back on.

\---

Bren adds manacles to the collar and Essek spends his days with his hands held behind his back. They have runes carved into them that pulse with magic but Bren refuses to tell him what they do. He supposes he’ll find out eventually.

Bren decides to test them one day when he’s bored. He’d been reading on the bed previously while Essek had sat slung forward in the most comfortable position he could find, his fingers tracing glyphs idly against the floor lest he forget. He can’t afford to forget, not when this is all he has. He doesn’t know if Bren notices him tracing glyphs or he’s simply bored. He supposes it doesn’t matter.

“ _ Versengen _ ,” Bren says. The manacles send pain shooting up Essek’s arms, burning into his skin like brands. He screams and struggles against them. Bren smiles. “ _ Spannen. _ ” The pain stops, but the manacles tighten, pulling his arms so hard that his shoulders creak in protest. He groans quietly, trying to angle his body to give his arms as much space as possible. “ _ Gefühllos _ .” The manacles loosen, but all of a sudden he can’t feel his hands. He attempts to wiggle his fingers, to move his wrists inside the confines of the manacles, but nothing. He sobs quietly.

“ _ Halt _ .” Bren says, seeming satisfied. “What do you think of those, pet?” Essek hisses out a quiet breath of exhaustion and pain and Bren beams. “I like them too,” he says, leaning over to ruffle Essek’s hair. Despite himself, Essek leans into the touch, covets it, until it’s pulled away and he’s left alone again.

\---

Bren rarely takes him out anymore either-- he’s taken to keeping him locked up, alternating between spending time with him and leaving him alone for long intervals. Bren has taken to threatening him randomly, and he must do it for the fun and the fear it incites and little else. It’s not necessary to threaten Essek to comply-- he doesn’t have it in him to refuse or fight against anything at this point. Today Essek is naked, sprawled on the bed on his front with his hands still chained behind his back, and there’s a beautiful steel dagger hovering inches from his cunt. Bren is kissing his shoulder and the knife is held in a thickly gloved hand. 

“Do you think I would do it,  _ meine kleines Spielzeug _ ?” He asks, his tone far too cheerful. “More importantly, do you think you would deserve it?” Essek isn’t sure anymore. He sobs and shakes his head. There’s a small shift of movement and then cold metal is pressing against his folds. He sobs and tries to writhe away, but it isn’t sharp. It’s still cold metal, surely, still the dagger, but it’s blunt. The handle, then. There is still a wicked sharp blade hovering near his cunt and thighs. He spreads his legs as best he can as Bren slowly, slowly fucks him with the handle of the dagger. Admittedly, it feels nice, if only because it’s Bren and he’s being fucked so slowly and so gently. He buries his face into the bedspread and moans as Bren’s free hand dips below to rub at his clit. Bren laughs softly. 

“You’re turned on by this?” He asks, twisting the dagger handle inside Essek. He pulls it out, suddenly. “Turn over.” Essek does, with a significant struggle, and this new position finds his arms pinned painfully under his body. “Spread your legs,” Bren says, smiling wickedly, “and try not to move too much.” The handle presses back into him and then Bren is kissing him and fucking him gently with it. Bren pulls away and ducks down to survey his work. He watches with fascination, his face turning a beautiful shade of pink that reminds Essek of Caleb. Bren watches with rapt attention how Essek opens up around the handle and leans down to carefully suck Essek’s clit into his mouth. Essek moans softly and tries not to squirm. The dagger is fucking him again, a little faster now, and with Bren’s mouth on his clit it doesn’t take long for him to come. “Incredible,” Bren breathes. Thankfully, he doesn’t leave the knife in, but he does leave Essek laying on his hands for a while. When he comes back with the dagger clean, Essek’s arms have fallen asleep. 

\---

“I love you,” Bren tells him one day as he’s fucking him slow and careful. Essek is sore all over after having been used roughly the day before and Bren has treated him kindly today. Essek shakes his head vigorously and tries to pull away. He mouths “no, no, no, no”, fighting against the collar, and tears stream down his face as he tries to twist out of Caleb’s grasp but he’s stuck still as Caleb finishes and leans down to kiss him.

He cries harder that night than he has in all his life.

\---

Bren must learn new spells at some point, because one day he’s studying in their room when Trent Ikithon knocks on the door to call him away. Essek doesn’t like how Trent’s hand settles on Bren’s shoulder, doesn’t like the low tone he speaks in to avoid being heard. Bren looks up at him as he leaves and smiles warmly.

“Herr Ikithon, it seems my pet is a bit jealous. Give me just a moment.” Bren steps back inside the room and leans down to press a careful kiss to Essek’s forehead. “Essek,” he murmurs. Essek looks up at him, confused and concerned. “Do not trance and do not fall asleep.”

He feels the charm spell take effect but it doesn’t register to him exactly which spell it must be until Bren leaves. It’s late and he should be trancing now, but Bren told him not to. Yet, he doesn’t feel compelled to stay awake. The realization dawns on him and makes his blood run cold. Caleb didn’t know this spell, which means Bren has been training with Ikithon and others like him. He knew it, logically, but to have such blatant proof-- to have that proof be used on him-- is another matter entirely.

He drifts toward trance and does his best to stay awake, but as it tugs him down, he feels a sudden jolt of pain go through his body. He sobs loudly. He should be able to trance now, the spell triggers once a day, and he knows that, but trancing seems far from his mind now.

He stays awake another two hours before he finally finds himself trancing restlessly.

This continues for the next few days and he finds that he forgets how long this particular spell lasts.

\---

He still has no gauge of time, but it must be some time later that Jester’s third message comes through. He’s alone in his and Bren’s room, collared and manacled with bruises all over his body. The base of his skull thrums and he fights back a sob of relief.

“Hi Essek! We're getting really worried about you guys. It's been a little over two months now. Should we come get you? Are you okay?” He feels a stab of guilt that he can’t respond verbally, that young, naive Jester will have to be on the receiving end of this, but he gathers all the energy he can and responds with the most clear sob he can muster.

He hopes desperately that it will be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zemnian Translations:  
> Liebling - darling/favorite  
> Kätzchen - kitten  
> Sechs, sieben, acht, neun - six, seven, eight, nine  
> Liebe - dear/love  
> Versengen - scorch  
> Spannen - tighten  
> Gefühllos - numb  
> Halt - stop  
> meine kleines Spielzeug - my little toy
> 
> Also to anyone wondering, the "Don't trance" spell was Geas. I rolled Essek's 5d10 of psychic damage just for funsies and got 41 so. Hm.


	3. there's a fire in my brain (and i'm burning up)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again added some tags! Please read them and continue at your own risk!
> 
> Chapter Title from "Curses" by The Crane Wives

Essek isn’t sure how much time passes. It could be days or weeks, he counts the time in shocks of pain when he accidentally slips into trance now and it’s not a very reliable method. He knows it hasn’t been a month since Bren cast the spell, if he’s remembering its parameters correctly-- but that’s all he can say with any certainty and even that hinges on how powerfully Bren cast it. He finds it’s getting harder to keep a grasp on spells. He mouths verbal components to himself whenever he has a chance and traces glyphs behind his back. His mind is all he has and even that is beginning to fade with the pain and confusion.

One day Bren comes in angry and frazzled and begins gathering his spell components. Essek watches with wide eyes. 

“The Mighty Nein are here,” Bren says with a grimace, “stay here and try not to make too much noise. I have no idea _why_ they are here but I suppose I can ask you about that after we are done with them. You best have a good answer for me. _Spannen_.” The manacles tighten, straining his shoulder muscles, and he whimpers. Bren leans down and seizes his face in one gloved hand, squeezing his cheeks a little as he kisses him once on the lips. Essek does not move. “Good boy,” Bren whispers, and for a moment Essek sees a flash of Caleb in his face, but his expression hardens cruelly and it’s gone as fast as it appeared. Essek swallows and cowers against the wall as Bren leaves with fury in his gait.

\---

Bren’s mind is fuzzy with rage. He has no idea how the Mighty Nein, that annoying mercenary group, even managed to get here, much less how they got _in_ , but he supposes it doesn’t matter. He knows what side he’s on now, and he’s gotten stronger since they saw him last. His position here is important, power is important, and he isn’t willing to risk anything for that. He checks and rechecks for all his important components, squaring his shoulders as he rounds the corner.

“Herr Ikithon,” he says. The man in question had been studying a passage in his spellbook, but upon Bren’s arrival it snaps shut and he tucks it away on his person.

“Bren,” the older mage says, a small smile on his face. “Are you prepared for what may come? I do not want you losing your grip on things just because these people were once your allies.” Bren raises his eyebrow, unable to hide the annoyance in his expression.

“I am not a child anymore, Ikithon. I understand what’s at stake here and I will not let you all down. More importantly, I will not let _myself_ down.” Ikithon’s smile spreads, his crows feet wrinkling deeper.

“That’s all the reassurance I need, Bren. Astrid is waiting in the atrium, make sure you are both prepared. You know better than anyone how unpredictable the Mighty Nein can be.”

“Of course, sir,” Bren smirks, “they are sellswords, after all.” Ikithon laughs.

“Well-put.” 

\---

Essek can hear yelling and the muffled sound of spells being cast and things impacting each other. His shoulders and arms ache. He isn’t even sure whether he wants to be found or not, but it seems he doesn’t get to make that choice as the door to his and Bren’s room opens slowly. Essek flinches and cowers against the wall, his chains clinking. 

“Mr. Essek?” A soft, low voice says, and a tall, pink head peeks around the doorframe. He chokes on a sob, and Caduceus’ head ducks out for a moment. “He’s in here!” he calls quietly, and then he’s coming into the room. Essek realizes belatedly that his entire body is shaking. “What can I do first?” Essek blinks and then tilts his chin up to push the collar out. Caduceus nods and approaches, holding his hand out. Essek flinches and Caduceus stops. “I will not hurt you,” Caduceus says softly, “I promise. I just want to get that off you. We might need Veth, though.” He steps away a moment and murmurs with someone outside the door before approaching again, his hand held out. Essek recognizes dimly the verbal and somatic components for a _Dispel_ _Magic_ and feels the suppressive aura of the collar dampen. Veth enters the room from behind Caduceus and maneuvers around his legs, her lockpicking kit at the ready.

“Didn’t realize this was gonna be so intense,” she mutters, something of a joke as she gets to work unlocking the collar. He wouldn’t laugh even if he thought he could. He’s too focused on trying not to flinch away from her. “Deucey, you know I could have unlocked this without the spell, right?” Cad nods, a small smile on his face. 

“Easier this way, we don’t know if it would have hurt you or Mr. Essek.” she nods, and he hears the collar click as she deftly finishes picking the lock. It creaks quietly as she opens it and he blinks, staring at it in her hands.

“Better?” Caduceus asks, tilting his head curiously. It takes Essek a moment to find his voice.

“Yes, much,” he manages. His voice is faint and hoarse after weeks of disuse and he’s horrified by how he sounds. He tries to ignore the awful expressions Veth and Caduceus make at it. “Can you-- ah-- could you get the manacles?” Veth is immediately shuffling behind him, examining the manacles carefully. “How long have we been here?” He asks as Veth begins to pick the lock on the manacles. Bren had told him five months-- he’s fairly certain Jester had said two months but he has to be sure. Caduceus blinks and his ears twitch up.

“About two and a half moons.” Essek blinks and feels tears sting his eyes but he blinks them away. It takes a bit longer for Veth to unlock the manacles than the collar and they send a jolt of pain through him as they unlock that leaves him pitching forward. Caduceus manages to catch him, carefully righting him. Caduceus gives Veth a mildly withering look. 

“That’s why I dispelled the collar.” Veth ignores him, setting the manacles aside with a quiet griping noise.

“Those don’t look like your normal earrings, Essek.” Veth notes, tilting her head.

_“I know how much you miss your ornamentation,” Bren had said, holding the earrings out for him to examine. The symbol of the Cerberus Assembly is lovingly crafted in silver, with twin golden flames dancing through the center. “I figured you could use some. They are a little personal symbol I have been working on, what do you think?” Essek can’t respond, of course, but he tilts his head in surrender. “Good.” He hasn’t worn earrings for at least a month and a half now and the sharp posts hurt as they’re forced through the healing skin. He winces and tries not to show too much pain in his expression, but Bren is not kind as he puts them in, being rougher than necessary. “They look lovely on you,” Bren notes, kissing his neck just below his ear. “A little symbol you belong to me, yes?”_

“Take them out,” Essek hisses, hands scrabbling at the earrings, desperate to rip them out, “take them out, I want them out!” Caduceus gently grabs his hands to stop him from tearing at his skin. He flattens his ears against his head and panics immediately, struggling to pull his hands away before he calms enough to allow Caduceus to hold his hands still.

“Alright, alright, no need to worry, Veth will take them off,” he says in an undertone, as though speaking to a feral animal. Essek nods shakily and stares at Caduceus as Veth gently removes each earring. She holds them in her hand and looks at him curiously, unsure what to do with them.

“Throw them away,” Essek says softly. “Get rid of them, I do not want to see them again.” 

“Are you sure, they could be worth--”  
“Get rid of them!” He insists loudly, his voice cracking. He yanks his hands out of Caduceus’ grasp and tries to stand, but dizziness quickly overtakes him. Caduceus’ hands are there gently steadying him again. Veth says something and slips out of the room but he doesn’t hear it, his head is fuzzy with dizziness and fear.

“Be careful there, you aren’t in the best condition,” Caduceus says, and Essek feels and smells the soft herbal warmth of a healing spell coursing through his body. He cries softly-- it doesn’t fix everything but it still soothes months of ache enough that it’s noticeable. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, “can we please get out of here now?”

“Of course. Do you think you can walk or would you rather I carry you?” He realizes after a moment of deliberation that he has access to his interdimensional space now, so he flicks his wrist and pulls the cloak from it, as well as his components. He closes his eyes and casts the familiar spell and immediately feels himself hover slightly. It’s a welcome and nostalgic feeling. He pulls the cloak over his shoulders and is relieved to find how much more comfortable it makes him. The cloak isn’t as heavy as his old mantle but the weight is comforting and it mostly hides the marks on his neck. 

“I think this will be fine. Thank you, Caduceus.” Caduceus’ smile is comforting; he taps his staff against the floor idly and flares his nostrils.

“Glad to help. We’ll talk more once we’ve gotten you and Caleb out.” Essek’s stomach drops and he feels his skin crawling as the horror dawns on him that they _don’t know_. All they know is that everything was going fine until it wasn’t-- they have no way of knowing that Caleb is Bren, and that Bren is… well, he’s not sure he has the words to describe Bren right now, but he feels a wave of nausea pass over him.

“Ah-- about that, Caduceus,” he starts, but Caduceus is already walking out. Essek bends down to grab the manacles before following. He leaves the collar due to its size, but tucks the manacles into his belt. He’s not entirely sure why he does it. They could be useful, he reasons, for something. If nothing else, he would like to study them before he destroys them. He thinks he’d like to destroy them. 

\---

Outside the room, it seems whatever battle had been going on has quieted down. Yasha had been guarding the door and upon their emergence, she looks down at Essek and her expression softens.

“Hello, Essek,” the tall barbarian woman says, “I’m glad to see you’re alright.”

“Hello Yasha,” he says softly, “Thank you but--ah--that remains to be seen.” He watches her eyes carefully scan him. They must pick up on something she doesn’t like because he sees her jaw twitch.

“Veth sent a message to Beau a few minutes ago, it seems like Caleb is putting up a fight for some reason. Beau stunned him.” Essek feels all the air leave his body in a relieved huff. Maybe if Bren is stunned this will be okay, he can somehow convince them to leave Bren here and he can just forget any of this ever happened. They both notice his little sigh but neither of them question it as Yasha heads off down the hall, presumably following Veth. Caduceus goes the opposite way down the hall and Essek follows him.

He realizes, after a moment, that Caduceus is going towards the rest of the group, and in turn, towards Bren, but it’s too late to divert his course now-- he’s not sure he’d put up enough of a fight in this state. He steels himself for whatever scene he’ll come upon. He and Caduceus wind down hallways that seem jarringly empty-- he imagines some members fled or teleported away while others are probably fighting in other parts of the Assembly building. They arrive in the atrium, where some members of the Assembly have already been manacled and carted aside while others lay strewn dead or gravely wounded on the floor. It seems the fighting is over-- Vess Derogna is in chains and being led away by a member of the Cobalt Soul while another Cobalt Soul member sorts through documents on a bench. Essek cannot find Ludinus or Ikithon in the crowd and he hopes either they’ve been taken away already or Yasha and Veth are dealing with them, though admittedly he’d love to kill either of them himself. Fjord is speaking to another Cobalt Soul member nearby, but Essek’s eyes are almost immediately drawn to the center of the room. They settle on Beau, who is holding Bren down while she and Jester try to talk to him. He shudders at the contempt in Bren’s expression and seizes his fingers in Caduceus’ tunic before he realizes he’s done so.

“You alright, Mr. Essek?” Cad asks, his eyes wide. 

“You need to leave him here,” he says, barely trusting his own voice. “Get out, save yourselves.” Caduceus’ expression turns sharp.

“Now I won’t be hearing that sort of talk. Caleb is a member of our group and we won’t leave him behind just because he isn’t coping well with this.”

“No, you do _not_ understand,” Essek says, desperate to be listened to, “he is not Caleb anymore.” Cad blinks and turns back to the scene before him. 

“Cobalt Soul _bitch_ ,” Bren is hissing, his body seized and frozen in place. There’s phosphorus and a tangle of thread strewn across the ground in front of him, which means she must have caught him mid-spell. “Stunning me like some kind of coward because you know you can’t fight me one-on-one without your cheap little tricks.” Beau glowers down at him.

“He’s been going on like this for a bit now,” Beau grumbles, pressing her heel into Bren’s side. “Jessie knocked him prone and I stunned him a few seconds ago, but I have no idea what’s wrong with him. Oh, hey Essek.” Bren quiets at Essek’s name and looks up at him. Their eyes catch and Essek feels fear jolt through him.

“You will help me, right, _Kätzchen_?” Bren asks sweetly. Essek blinks, an animal caught in a trap, and grips Caduceus arm so hard he can feel the solid line of his bones.

“No,” Essek chokes out, ducking partially behind Caduceus. Bren’s face twists.

“Should have expected as much. Fucking _crick_.” Jester and Beau react immediately and simultaneously. Jester goes still, her eyes round and wide, and covers her mouth with both hands in horror. Beau digs her heel into Bren’s side, hard.

“Hey man, what the fuck? I know we still have that stupid book in Jessie's bag, but that doesn’t mean you can just use that word! Especially around Essek! You’re better than that!” Bren huffs a half-laugh.

Essek squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to vomit, tries not to cry.

“I told you to leave him,” he mutters into Caduceus’ tunic. “It’s not him, we need to leave while we can.” Bren struggles out of the stun and attempts to stand. He whips his head from side to side, taking in the room.

“Where is Astrid?” He asks, lunging at Beau, and Jester immediately stops him from moving with a flick of her holy symbol. 

“She’s fine,” Jester insists, her hands flapping nervously at her sides, “at least I think so. She ran off to help Ickythong a few minutes before we stunned you.” Caduceus sets a gentle hand on Jester’s shoulder.

“Jester, could you come keep Essek company for me, please?” He feels, rather than hears, Caduceus rumble. “I’m going to try something.” Caduceus steps away from Essek and he mourns the safety and human contact but almost immediately Jester is at his side and he collapses against her.

“Hi Essek,” she says softly, petting his hair. Despite the fear that spikes through him at the touch, he leans instinctively into it. Jester is soft and warm and comfortable and he feels safe with her here. He wraps his arms around her. She starts in surprise at the hug but graciously returns it, and he melts into her arms with a soft sob. “I’m sorry that it took so long. We should have come sooner.”

“I did not tell you, you had no reason to suspect until it was too late.” Jester pulls out of the hug slightly to look into his face. 

“I should have known,” she insists, “I _did_ know, even if it was instinctual.” 

“It’s okay,” he says finally, unsure how else to respond.

“I don’t think it is,” she says earnestly. He nods sadly but says nothing else, instead turning his attention to Caduceus, who has pulled a diamond from his component pouch and is muttering an incantation while Bren snarls at him. He tilts his staff down to press against Bren’s cheek and there’s a small pulse of greenish light. The stun wears off in the same moment and Bren stumbles to his feet. For a moment Essek’s body seizes with fear and he’s sure Bren is going to fight them-- is going to kill them. He panics, grabbing Jester’s arm so hard she squeaks, but the spell takes effect and Bren’s face changes.

Where once was vitriol and hatred is only confusion, and then Bren--no-- _Caleb_ , he realizes with a growing sense of horror, goes rigid. He turns to look at Essek and his expression turns hollow. Essek opens his mouth, maybe to cry, maybe to speak, maybe to do something else, but he closes it just as quickly. Caleb’s gaze drops and he immediately collapses to his knees and vomits on the floor.

\---

Fjord stands nearby, scanning the room and occasionally glancing from Essek to Caleb to Beau. Beau is keeping Caleb steady now, holding his hair out of his face. Caleb is on his knees, shaking all over. He’s thrown up so many times now that his stomach is empty and he’s left choking on bile, shuddering with sobs. His expression is hollow, his face horribly pale and his eyes rimmed red. There are tears running down his face, mixing with the saliva on his chin, and Essek can’t look away. It’s like something out of a nightmare, realizing what had been going on all this time. It explains it, but it doesn’t fix it, because Essek is still haunted by the feeling of clever, dextrous hands prying his legs apart and a steady accented voice calling him horrible things. His head aches, a deep pounding in his skull, and he wants to throw up too, or maybe just die-- wants to collapse to the ground and empty his body until there’s nothing left inside. He clings to Jester and buries his face in her shoulder so he doesn’t have to look.

“ _Why_?” he chokes out, unable to fight tears any longer. The group looks between the two of them, confused, and seems to decide that this is not the time or place.

“We should get out of here,” Fjord says, “Does anyone know where Veth and Yasha are?”

“They were going in the opposite direction of Essek and me,” Caduceus says, “but I don’t know if they’ve changed their destination at all. Either way I’m sure we can find them.”

“Right, who all is going after them and who wants to stay here with Essek and Caleb?” Jester asks.

“ _Nein_ ,” Caleb says quickly, staggering to his feet with Beau’s help. He wipes his mouth off with the sleeve of his Cerberus Assembly uniform. “No-- ah-- we should not split up.” His voice is raw and hoarse and he sounds so _scared_.

“Caleb is right,” Fjord says, “We have no idea who’s still left in the corridors, and we’re not sure where Veth and Yasha are. As long as you two are alright to walk, it will be easier to all go together so you have four sets of eyes on you rather than one or two.” Essek feels the urge to snap that he doesn’t need any eyes on him, that’s he’s perfectly fine on his own, but his eyes stray to Bren-- to Caleb, who is pointedly avoiding looking at him, and he shudders and chokes on his words.

“Yes,” Essek says finally, “I can float now that I have access to my components so I am more than fine to come with.”

“I am good as well,” Caleb says, gently shrugging Beau’s hand off his shoulder. He rubs his eyes and mouth roughly on the sleeves of the coat, scrubbing away the remnants of bile and tears. He empties his components out of the pockets of the coat and stows them on his person before peeling it off and dropping it on the ground. “Did not want to keep wearing that,” he says with a smile that attempts to be humorous.

They return back through the hallways he and Caduceus had come in through and Essek stares straight ahead, his eyes focused on the glimmering green tattoo on the back of Beauregard’s neck. He tries as hard as he can not to look at Bren, not to look at Caleb, not to look at the hallways they walk through lest he recognize a room (and think _I was cut into in that room, I was assaulted in that room, I begged to die in that room_ ). It doesn’t work.

 _“You know, when I was growing up they told us quite often how peculiar and unattractive drow were, but I’ve always thought you were just so pretty.” Bren’s fingers trail down his face, deceptively gentle. “Your skin is so smooth and dark, it reminds me of those delightful fruits from the Marrow Valley. I believe they’re called plums?” Essek doesn’t respond, he wouldn’t even if he could. There’s a fake cock hovering inches from his face and he knows what that means, knows how this will end. Bren notices his wandering eyes. “Go on then, pretty thing. Open your mouth.” He wishes he had the nerve to refuse but he does as he’s told without a second thought, his lips falling open. Bren’s thumb traces along his lower lip, pulling at it a little. He shifts his hips forward and the smooth surface of the cock slides over Essek’s tongue. He isn’t sure what the material is, but it has some give, not exactly the texture of flesh but of a similar density. It doesn’t taste like anything, at least, and this close he can smell Bren, just a little. He barely has time to consider it before Bren’s hips snap forward and the cock hits his throat. He chokes a little, but there’s no acknowledgement of it from Bren other than a pleased hum. “Sometimes I wish I could feel this,” Bren says as he places one hand on the back of Essek’s head, gripping his hair tightly. “It’s alright though, I still get to see your pretty face and hear the wrecked little noises you make.” The cock slides further in somehow, the length of it down into the column of Essek’s throat, and he pants rapidly through his nose, trying not to panic. There’s sudden pressure at his crotch and he grinds down against it instinctively. Bren laughs and pulls him off by his hair. “Did you like that,_ Schlampe _?” He asks, nudging his boot against Essek’s clit again. Essek moans softly and tries to look away, ashamed. The hand in his hair tugs sharply. “Look at me, whore. Did you like that?” He swallows, feels the aching pain in his throat, and slowly nods. “Good.” He inhales and opens his mouth and then there’s a cock pressing into his throat again and the toe of a boot pressed hard against his cunt. Bren fucks his mouth with brutal efficiency, letting saliva spill around the cock and drip down Essek’s chin. Bren must come at some point because he buries the cock down Essek’s throat and groans quietly, pulling his hair as he does so. Essek comes too, with a deep sense of shame after Bren allows him to grind to completion against his boot._

Essek blinks and swallows hard, feeling a phantom pressure in his throat. His pulse flutters and he takes a deep breath, trying to banish the memory that spiked through his brain like a bolt of electricity. 

“You alright, man?” Beau asks. Essek forces a smile.

“Just lovely.”

\---

Yasha and Veth are tucked away in a room in the far north of the headquarters, a pile of bodies left in their wake. They emerge and the Nein can see that Yasha is holding a body in her arms irreverently. Veth pops out from behind her and begins pulling crossbow bolts from the body with slick sucking sounds. They both stop when they see the group approaching.

It doesn’t take long for Caleb or Essek to recognize the broken elderly body of Trent Ikithon in Yasha’s arms.There are two remaining bolts protruding from his ribs and a gaping wound bloodied across his sickly frame. 

“I’m sorry,” Yasha says quietly, “he tried to attack us and I just got so angry thinking about how he hurt you guys and I rushed him. I wasn’t thinking.”

“We tried to save him for you, Lebby, but at least you know--” Caleb steps forward, around Beauregard.

“Put the body down,” Caleb interrupts, his voice clipped and dangerously familiar. Essek flinches hard and takes a step back, knocking against Jester on accident. She lays a hand on his shoulder blade, steadying.

“Caleb?” Veth asks, confusion coloring her tone.

“Put the body down,” he repeats, “and step away from it.” Yasha and Veth both share a look. Yasha drops his body to the ground, deadweight on concrete. Trent’s head lolls to the side and a trickle of blood pours from his unmoving mouth. They both pick their way carefully through the mess of bodies and slot themselves in amongst the group.

Caleb reaches into his pocket and pulls out a length of string coated in phosphorus. Essek can see the tears running down his cheeks and chin, tears of rage and old fear. Caleb makes a cat’s cradle with shaky hands and slams his hands onto the ground with a wretched and hollow sob that hangs in the air. Gouts of flame shoot from his fingertips, racing across the floor in brilliant orange lines that converge into one pillar of flame. Essek can feel the heat from here, a blazing warmth that speaks of vengeance and hatred and years of suffering. Ikithon’s body is incinerated, the flame eating away at his entire form until it’s left a crumbled mess of ash and jutting bone. Caleb is breathing erratically, weeping softly on his knees. He stands and walks over to the crumbling body and lifts one Assembly-issued boot. He brings the boot down, stomping first on the charred arches of Trent’s rib. They snap loudly under his soles and he grits his teeth, raises the boot again and slams his heel down into the blackened swell of what must be Ikithon’s skull. It fragments, breaking into smaller pieces that he crushes with his toe until they turn to fine dust. Only then he seems satisfied, stepping away from the body with an empty, inscrutable expression. The ash and soot in the air have gathered in a thin layer on his face, but there are twin tracks down his cheeks where tears have spilled unbidden.

“We should go,” he says softly.

And they do.

\---

Their departure from the Assembly headquarters would have gone off without a hitch if not for Ludinus Da’leth. The Mighty Nein heads back down the hallway they had gone through before (twice now, in the case of Caduceus and Essek). The entire building is almost eerily quiet now. A Cobalt Soul researcher stops them at one point to hand something to Beauregard, a small book and some loose papers that she scans before pocketing. She thanks the researcher and they continue on, but the group only manages to proceed for a few more minutes before a bolt of arcane energy tears through the still air and bursts across Caleb’s chest. He’s thrown back and Caduceus catches him, immediately sending a wave of healing magic through him. Essek whips around, searching for the source, and his eyes lock with the Martinet’s.

“Thelyss,” he says with a cruel smile, “are you really leaving so soon? Surely if Ermendrud can’t continue this charade someone else would be happy to use you.” 

Essek is moving before he even realizes he’s doing it, dropping his levitation and hitting the ground so hard his knees buckle as he lunges at Ludinus. He knocks Ludinus to the ground and kneels over him, pulling the manacles from his belt on instinct. He wraps them around Ludinus’ neck, pulling tightly. The smirk disappears instantly. Ludinus struggles and he simply pulls harder. His hands claw at Essek’s arms, claw at his own neck, desperate and afraid. He attempts to cast something, anything, but he can’t speak, choking and foaming at the mouth. Essek can see the light dimming in Ludinus’ eyes as they redden, the blood vessels straining. He makes a feral noise in the back of his throat and pulls, so hard that the manacle chains dig in and draw blood as he throttles the life out of Martinet Ludinus Da’leth. He watches the older elf die but he keeps the manacles tight, just in case. He thinks of how he once worked with this man. He thinks of a condescending voice, of hands on his body, of vulgar whispers and mutterings of “crick” and the pleased look on Ludinus face when he’d seen Essek humbled as a slave. He snarls and lets the manacles drop. Ludinus’ body is limp beneath him.

“Decompose him,” he hisses to Caduceus. There’s no response. He turns to look over his shoulder and sees the Mighty Nein staring in horror. He swallows and stands. His hands and fingers ache and he flexes them slowly. “Please?” He asks. His gaze flits over Caleb. He expects to see terror, or maybe disgust, but instead he sees what he can only describe as resignation. 

“Alright then,” Caduceus says, stepping forward and tapping his staff on the ground. As Essek steps away from the body he watches a multitude of fungus and moss and plants grow slowly over the unmoving form. He nods carefully and steps back to join the rest of the group, ignoring the wary looks they keep giving him and Caleb. 

“Yussa is waiting outside,” Jester says finally, “he teleported us here since neither of you were um… available. We don’t want to keep him waiting, he’s a bit of a homebody like my mama.” 

“Then let us go,” Essek says wearily, “that I may only ever see this place again in my nightmares.” Caleb winces.

“That makes two of us,” he says, sounding exhausted and terribly guilty. He pointedly avoids Essek’s gaze and Essek wishes that didn’t make him feel so awful.


	4. the forest is on fire but we're gonna let it burn (we're controlling it, we've got it handled, thanks for your concern)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Forest Fire" by Andrew Jackson Jihad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that the last few chapters are going to take me a while!! Sorry! But also know I won't leave this unfinished!

During the teleportation to Nicodranas, Essek stands on the opposite side of the circle from Caleb, keeping as close to Jester as possible. It’s nighttime, he notes idly. She squeezes his hand as they enter the circle and he feels the cool, almost minty sting of one of her healing spells zing through him. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, feeling his shoulder pop back into place. He hadn't even noticed it was dislocated. She pouts slightly.

“There are still marks on your neck,” she says, her eyes widening with concern as she seems to notice them up close. “They’re-- they’re really bad, Essek. Some of it might be infected.” He nods, and it takes all his energy not to let emotion show on his face.“What happened to you guys, Essek? Why would they hurt you like that?” Her voice sounds so small, so afraid. He doesn’t know how to tell her-- though she must know, despite being young and naive-- that some people inflict pain for the pleasure of inflicting pain and little else. Trent Ikithon strikes him as one of those people, always has. 

It is easier now, in hindsight, to piece together a timeline of events. Caleb was Caleb that first night after the party, when he held Essek and apologized. Sometime the next morning Ikithon got his claws in Caleb, cast something, assumedly a _Modify Memory_ , and released the nightmare that was Bren. Everything gets fuzzy after that-- even though logically he knows now that it was two months, nothing seems to piece together right, dilapidated ripped edges of memories that bleed into each other. If he thinks on it all too hard, his brain goes into fight-or-flight, so instead he lets himself occupy this space in the back of his mind where he isn’t all there.

“We’re going to Yussa’s tower in Nicodranas first,” Jester says, “And then the Lavish Chateau-- Oh, you’ll finally get to meet my mama!” He nods, not fully aware of what she’s saying. He’s looking across the circle at Caleb. Caleb’s eyes are averted, he looks nervous and guilty. Over his shoulder is another Caleb-- Bren, Essek realizes with a jolt of panic, staring at him with cold, impassive eyes.

  
“Essek,” Jester says. 

They’re no longer outside the Cerberus Assembly building. They’re in a warm, well-decorated room, and he realizes suddenly that he’s been staring at the wall. He glances at her when he hears his name. She’s standing in the doorway and she looks concerned, her small blue face pinched. “Are you okay?” It’s raining out, but there’s definitely light now, grey and dim. It isn’t night anymore.

“Where are we?” he asks numbly. She looks scared, now, and steps a little closer to him. He tries not to flinch as she approaches.

“Essek, you’re shaking.”

“Where are we?” he repeats. “What time is it?” He’s panicking a little now, can’t feel his limbs, he feels unsteady, and not simply because he’s hovering a few inches off the ground.

“We’re in the Lavish Chateau.” She says quietly, “In Nicodranas. It’s eight in the morning.” Beau appears at her shoulder.

“Essek what’s the last thing you remember?” She asks. His hands are shaking and he can’t breathe. His vision is blurring at the edges. Did he try to trance? Has anyone removed the spell yet? He doesn’t remember. He’s losing time, and time is something he understands so well, and he’s so, so afraid.

“The teleportation circle,” he says. They share a look and he has no idea what it means. “How long has it been since then?” Beau swallows.

“Essek we’ve been at the Chateau for hours. Everyone else has slept and is awake now-- did you sleep at all?” He wants to believe she’s telling the truth but maybe she isn’t-- maybe she’s lying to him like Bren did. Maybe this is a trick and they’re still in the Assembly building; there are spells that can create illusory terrain in a person’s mind. 

“No, I don’t think so,” he murmurs, “but I’m not sure.”

\---

Jester restores him just in case the Geas spell is still up and attempts to coax him downstairs. It’s due to her ushering that he realizes he’s floating. Neither Beau nor Jester make a comment on it but they definitely notice it.

“We can get you something to eat,” Jester promises. This offer isn’t as enticing as she thinks it is.

“Will Caleb be down there?” He asks. She purses her lips, trying to parse out his expression, but she must come to the wrong conclusion.

“Umm, I think so, yeah!” he swallows and averts his gaze.

“Then I’ll stay up here.” She seems a bit surprised by this reaction and he feels disgust and guilt deep inside him. “I’m going to trance, I still don’t know if I did last night.” Beau folds her arms.

“We can bring you up some food,” she offers.

“I probably won’t eat it,” he says sullenly, “but feel free.” Beau walks out but Jester stays, and he sags a bit. “I don’t need someone to watch me,” he says with an edge of petulance, “I’m not a child.”

“I know you aren’t, I just thought you might want some… some company.” He swallows and forces himself to sit, feeling phantom pain through his body as he does. Jester comes to sit next to him and offers her hand. 

“I don’t,” he says coldly. “Want company, that is.”

“Essek, I don’t want you to--”

“To what?” He spits. “To hurt myself? To try to kill myself? You don’t have to worry about that, Jester.” He folds his arms and curls up, laying down on the bed and turning on his side with his back to her. “I’ll be perfectly fine, there’s no reason why you can’t-- why I should-- why I would try that.” They must think him weak and broken, to be worried about that.

“We don’t know that for sure,” Jester says, and he can feel the fear dripping from her tone. “Caleb has already hurt himself.” That gets him sitting up in panic.

“He what?” He asks. His hands are shaking again.

“Caleb won’t talk to any of us,” Jester says softly, “and he won’t eat anything. Apparently, he said he didn’t think he should be allowed to. The one time I saw him Beau had to break into the bathroom because he’d torn his scars open. Caduceus and I had to heal him but he kept telling us to save our spells for… for someone who deserved them.” He sees tears shining in her eyes and he feels bad for snapping at her. “Essek, what did they do to you guys? D-did Caleb do something while he was under that spell? He seems to think-- he seems to think it was his fault somehow.” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Essek says.

“Did he hurt you?” What doesn’t she understand about ‘I don’t want to talk about it’? He grits his teeth.

“...Yes,” he says finally. She hesitates, wringing her hands.

“But you still care about him, don’t you?”

  
 _“You’re free to do what you please, for now,” Bren tells him, stroking his fingers along Essek’s bare neck gently. “The collar is off. Go on.” Essek stares up at him. It’s a trap, he knows that, but that isn’t what keeps him. Caleb is looking at him so tenderly, his blue eyes shining. “You’re free,_ mein Geliebter Schatz. _” Essek tilts his head like a puppy, confused. Why would he leave? Why would he run? What else does he have in the outside world? A family who doesn’t love him, who has made no attempt to connect with him since he reached adulthood? The Nein, his only friends, who have abandoned him for months with no explanation? Here his fate is at least predictable. Most of the time he’ll be used and discarded but sometimes he’ll be loved and held gently and kissed. These times are so rare now-- but they’re there, and he craves them, he’s addicted to them. He looks up at Bren once more and sees his blue eyes soften. He sits back on his heels and makes no move to leave or cast anything. Bren smiles and strokes his hair. “What a good pet,” he says. Essek nuzzles into the touch desperately and Bren gently slaps his cheek. “Don’t do that. I decide how much affection you receive.” He tilts his head, calculating, and a small smile forms over his face. “You know, since you’re already on your knees...”_

“Essek? Essek?” Jester’s blue face swims into view, terrified and tear-stained. He blinks at her.

“ _What_?” He doesn’t mean to snap but it certainly comes across the way as he sees her face crumple further.

“Oh my gods, don’t _do_ that,” she hisses, swiping at the tears on her face. “We were talking and then all of sudden you were just _gone_ , completely unresponsive. I had no idea what to do.” He shudders and shakes his head. He feels sick. At some point during that train of thought-- or blackout, as it were, he got wet, and the realization makes him want to vomit. He makes a strangled little noise in the back of his throat and looks away from Jester.

“It’s _fine_. Can I have some privacy, please?” She blinks, then pouts a little and finally, slowly nods.

“I don’t know if I should leave you alone but…” She frowns, fussing with her skirts. “Yeah, I’m sorry. You’re not a kid, you deserve your privacy. Even if you were a kid you’d deserve privacy. Uhm. Anyway. Do you still want some food?”

“Later, perhaps. I will come downstairs for it, provided Caleb isn’t there.” She winces and nods, leaving.

He sits on the edge of the bed and then lays back, his hand slowly straying between his legs, under his leggings and into his smalls. He licks his lips. This is a dumb idea, he knows that. He keeps his eyes open, staring at the ceiling. If he closes them he will see Bren’s face-- it will emerge from the place in his brain that it lives every waking moment.

He masturbated enough before all of this. It was his only experience with sex, really. He tries not to think about that-- the fact that he was a virgin before this. He doesn’t care about virginity as a concept, not really, but something about this situation makes him feel dirty and used. Is this what people mean when they talk about virginity as a virtue? He bites his lips so hard he tastes blood and forces his hand between his legs, over his folds to stroke his clit in quick jerks of his hand.

It’s clinical and quick and it has no feeling to it. As soon as that band snaps-- as soon as he cums-- he wipes his hand against the bed and turns over,mechanical and emotionless until he’s buried his face into the fluffy pillows. Once his face is completely buried, suffocatingly so, he _sobs_ , every inhibition shattering as he wails into the pillow. He doesn’t feel any better. He feels _so_ much worse, in fact. He hovers somewhere between shame, disgust and self-pity. He settles into dissociation instead.

_“Who do you belong to, pet? Remind me, so neither of us ever forget,” the Bren in his head says._

“You,” Essek rasps into the pillow. 

He doesn’t want to mean it but he does anyway.


	5. arson eyes (see a world made of paper)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Arson Eyes" by ROAR 
> 
> TW for this chapter: attempted use of sexual coercion, vomiting

Essek spends his days hiding in his room in the Chateau. Occasionally, the Nein can coax him to come out to eat, but he barely wants to do that anyway. Sleep is elusive and never restful and Essek finds himself waking in the middle of the night often-- every time with a sense of hollowness in his chest. He wonders, in one of his moments of overthinking, if this situation is worse because it’s the only time he’s ever had sex-- and suddenly that’s all he can think about. It gnaws at him in the day and night as he wonders if things would be different-- if he could wash away the feeling of Bren’s hands on him by sleeping with someone else. It’s not the worst idea he’s had, in his opinion. The question is who.

Were the situation different, he knows the only person he’d want to sleep with is Caleb. He’s always been… well, picky isn’t the word, but he’s selective. It certainly has to be a man, he’s known that about himself for a long time-- and he’s fairly certain it shouldn’t be a stranger. Despite the multitude of options at the Chateau, when he tries to imagine that, it makes panic flutter through him, making his throat feel hot and tight. Thus… his only viable options are within the Nein. He tries imagining that instead. Fjord, maybe? He likes Fjord well enough but something about it feels wrong. Fjord is... well Fjord is unpredictable-- which isn’t always a bad thing, but it’s certainly not what Essek needs right now. Caduceus, however... Caduceus is soft and sweet, with a firmness to him. He’s intelligent, charismatic in his genuinity, kind. Most importantly, he wouldn’t hurt Essek. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to sleep with Caduceus, far from it, even if Essek isn’t attracted to him the way he was… is(?) attracted to Caleb.

He’s not entirely sure how to go about it, that’s one issue. His inexperience extends to the mere _possibility_ of sex-- he’s never propositioned someone, never asked someone on a date, never, never, never. It’s sort of pathetic, really, how deeply inexperienced he is in this arena. It was just never something that _mattered_ before, he always had more important things to do, but now it matters too much and he has no idea what to do. He supposes he can just ask… and perhaps have some kind of… backup. It wouldn’t be difficult to get Caduceus alone, the Nein are sleeping in separate rooms in the Chateau. They _would_ be sleeping in Caleb’s Mansion, but he hears Caleb barely has the energy to do anything these days. He hates how spitefully pleased that information makes him. 

\---

He decides to do it one night, finally. Time has become meaningless to him so he’s not sure how long it’s been since he and Caleb were rescued. He doesn’t want to ask. The less the Nein knows about his tenuous grasp on reality, the better. Especially Bren. Caleb. Whoever. He bundles himself in one of the Chateau’s robes and nothing else, a pathetic semblance of seduction. He rummages through his meager component bag-- they never thought to take it from him. He’s not sure if he should be filled with pride that they trusted him enough for that, or disappointed in their foolishness for not worrying what he could do as a mentally unstable mage of great power. Perhaps they are waiting for him to do something dangerous, waiting for him to give them an excuse to treat him like a child. He wonders if they’ve already taken Caleb’s components away. He wonders if that thought should make him feel safer and not more hollow.

Caduceus’ room is near his-- they’d put an emphasis on showing him where the clerics were sleeping, just in case. In case he tears himself apart in an effort to feel whole again, in case he can’t sleep, in case… Well, this probably isn’t what they had in mind. 

His heart is beating so hard in his chest that he feels like it could burst at any moment. Maybe he wishes it would.

Caduceus is still awake when he steps in the door, thumbing through a cookbook. He isn’t sure whether that makes this easier or not.

“Essek?” Caduceus’ voice is soft and Essek feels himself calm just a little. “I haven’t seen you this far out of your room in a while, is everything alright?” Essek swallows. His throat hurts. This was a bad idea. It’s been so long since he initiated a conversation that he’s not even entirely sure he can make himself speak. He swallows again.

“Sleep with me,” he says, before he can reconsider this whole afair. He tries to sound appealing and not desperate, but he’s sure it fails. He sees Caduceus’ expression shift through several different emotions.

“No,” Caduceus says softly. “I’m not going to do that.” Essek bites his lip so hard he can taste a bit of blood.

“Please,” he says, and oh, how long has he been crying?

“Essek.” Caduceus’ voice is terribly soft. “I’m not going to sleep with you.”

“Why not?” He must sound like a petulant child throwing a tantrum, his hands balled into fists, his face wet with tears, his ears pinned back with equal parts terror, rage, and grief. Caduceus’ expression remains steady, pitying, and Essek thinks he’s never been more angry at someone in his life.

“Don’t take it personally, just not really my thing, but even if it was, you came into my bedchambers at one in the morning and you’re crying,” Caduceus explains. “I couldn’t in good conscience do so even if I wanted to.” 

Essek feels a pang of anger and disgust bubble through him and he stuffs his hand into his robe pocket. Maybe it’s at Caduceus, maybe it’s at Bren for causing this whole mess, but most likely, it’s at himself. 

“Essek.” He ignores Caduceus’ voice, suddenly wavering with fear. His fingers fumble, grasp for the components, the snake’s tongue and the bottle of oil. “ _Essek_.” Caduceus’ voice is more firm now as he manages to get the components out and holds them in shaky hands, beginning to murmur the incantation. Caduceus takes a deep breath and speaks louder, his voice firm but still shaking with terror. “Essek Thelyss, if you use that spell to convince me to sleep with you, it will be rape and you know it.” Essek goes still, his shaky hands failing him as the components drop to the carpet, oil spilling slick and shiny on his hands, his feet, the floor. Caduceus stumbles and Essek can see the worry pinch his brow. “Essek, I’m not angry with you--” Essek drops to his knees, scrambling to pick up the components as his sobs grow louder, higher in pitch. He can hear noise from the rooms around them, the sound of people waking as he’s made too much of a fuss now. Caduceus has dropped to his knees beside him, his eyes soft and steady. “Essek, should I bring you back to your room?”

“No, no, no,” Essek weeps, his shaky hands coming up to cover his face. Caduceus reaches a hand out. “No, don’t _touch me_ ,” Essek shouts. The gravity well escapes him before he can stop it, pushing Caduceus away from him and against the bed. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

There’s commotion behind him-- he thinks the Nein must be preparing to fight something and instead they find him crumpled in a pile on the floor. He hears a soft noise of panic behind him, a sharp inhale of breath he recognizes too well. How could he not recognize it? He spent months (how many, again?) learning every noise that Bren made and what they meant. Knowing that meant knowing how to predict what might happen to him. He can’t breathe now, on his knees with his hands over his face. Bren won’t want to find him like this. He shakes the thoughts from his head because _Bren is gone, Bren isn’t real, it wasn’t Caleb’s fault_. 

“Are you okay, Caddy?” Fjord asks, stepping carefully around Essek. He leaves a wide berth.

“I’m alright, I don’t think he meant to hurt me,” Caduceus murmurs as Fjord helps him up. Essek trembles, his face still in his hands, shielded. _If they can’t get to his face they can’t fuck his mouth or hit him there or take any of his teeth to see if they’ll grow back or--_

“What happened?” Jester asks from the doorway, her words cut up choppily with a yawn. Caduceus makes a small noise of contemplation, debating whether to lay Essek’s sins before them or not.

“I don’t think that’s my story to tell,” he says quietly. “Essek, are you alright?” Essek doesn’t move, curled up carefully, safely. “We can give him a moment. Does anyone want some tea?”

“Should I go?” Caleb’s voice is so soft and afraid that Essek can’t compare it to Bren’s. How could he? This isn’t the voice he fears, it’s the voice he fell in love with so many months ago, before Bren changed everything between them. 

“That might be for the best,” Caduceus says quietly. Essek wants to cry _no, stay. I miss you_ . He doesn’t and he can hear the sound of Caleb’s feet shuffling away. He lets out a small sob. _I’m sorry_ , he thinks, _I’m sorry I can’t be around you because I want to, I want to, I want to._ It’s an incessant gnawing in his gut, the desire to be around Caleb, a desire he thought foolishly that he would one day no longer have to deal with. Maybe if he hadn’t been such a coward he could have said something, told Caleb how he felt before all of this happened. Maybe they could have had a first time that wasn’t-- he’s vomiting on the floor before he realizes what’s happening, the effort of heaving making his throat ache. His stomach is so empty that nothing really comes up, but he’s retching anyways, his eyes streaming with tears.

“Oh, Essek,” Jester says worriedly. She stoops beside him and rubs his back gently. “Do you want some tea with us?” he nods miserably. His hands shake as he attempts to cast prestidigitation. It takes a few tries, which only serves to make him more miserable. He can barely cast a simple cantrip. The spell cleans the floor, then the oil off his hands and feet. He clumsily screws the lid back on his sweet oil and Jester catches sight of the components, her hands flying to her mouth. “ _Oh, Essek_ ,” she says, her tone different now. “What happened?” He shakes his head, feeling like a convicted man in a noose.

“I tried to convince Caduceus to... to have sex with me,” he says quietly. Maybe if someone else hears it they’ll finally realize what a repulsive, awful person he is. Maybe they’ll kick him out to fend for himself and he can stop caring so much. The silence hangs between them, heavy and thick. He wonders if anyone but Jester heard.

“Did you think that would… distract you?” Jester asks, trying not to sound judgemental. He shakes his head.

“I thought it would give me a frame of reference,” he says quietly. “Something else to… another comparison to make, in my head. To how it _should_ be.” It takes her a moment to process that statement and then her face falls.

“Oh.” He gives a bitter laugh that cuts off when he sees her stricken expression.

“Yes, _oh_ ,” he says seriously. Jester reaches up to accept a hot cup of tea from Caduceus and hands it to him. He cups it, taking small sips from it that soothe his throat. “This is nice, thank you.”

“Are you ready to talk about what happened, then?” Veth asks, eye-level with him. She’s walked over from where the rest of the Nein is checking in with Caduceus, and he gets the sense no one but Jester had heard their conversation. He squeezes his eyes shut.

“Not really,” he says softly. “I think I’d just like to sleep.”

“Can we trust that you won’t do this again?” Fjord asks. Essek feels like a child being reprimanded by his father. He considers the question and Caduceus’ words roll through his head. _If you use that spell to convince me to sleep with you, it will be rape and you know it._

He nods.

“I won’t do it again,” he promises. 

“Can we trust that you aren’t going to murder Caleb in his sleep?” Veth asks. There’s a sort of off-kilter humor to it, like she’s asking the question in a ribbing manner. The question hits something hollow in his chest and he chokes down another sob, taking a gulp of his tea that scalds a little. He doesn’t answer. He’s not sure he could give a coherent answer at this point.

He finishes his tea and heads back to his room, the bitterness of shame and defeat rolling through him in waves. No one accompanies him-- most of the Nein went back to sleep soon after their talk. Fjord remained in Caduceus’ room with the two of them, likely making sure Essek would hold good on his promise. There’s a somewhat obvious silver wire strung across Caleb's door frame and he wonders if they put up extra precautions since he wouldn’t answer. He fishes through his pocket to find the last component he saved. He holds the copper wire to his lips and looks to the door.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly into it. “I want to fix this, I want to talk to you. I miss you a lot, and I know that probably just makes things worse, but…” he swallows. “I just need time and a few mistakes. Please don’t give up on... yourself, Caleb.” There’s a long stretch of silence. For all he knows Caleb could be asleep, though. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to speak to Essek. He’s ready to turn back to his own room, heading to bed before Caleb’s soft voice creeps into his mind in return.

“The same to you, Essek,” he says. Nothing more. Essek’s heart flutters traitorously. He slips back into his room and tries to sleep.


	6. there is amber in the embers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beau and Caleb start to look into what they can find out from Ikithon's journals but when they hit a snag, there's really only one mage who they can ask for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "The Harrowed and the Haunted" by The Decemberists

“Are you gonna help me?” Beau stares across the room at Caleb, curled up on his bed facing away from her.

“ _Nein_ ,” he says resolutely. 

“Please, dude. His journals are really fucked up and they have all these codes on it and stuff, I just need you to help me decode it and then you can go back to doing whatever you want.”

“I asked you not to bring his things in here,” Caleb says coldly. He turns over to look at her, his blue eyes boring into her.

“Do you want to figure out what he did to you, or not?” She asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I know what he did to me, Beauregard, and I know… I know that it could not force my hand, not really. I wanted… I wanted to do those things I did to him.” She senses that this second _him_ is not in reference to Ikithon. She shuts the book.

“And, for the record, what things did you do to him?” He glares at her. “It was worth a shot.” She sighs quietly, standing up and moving to sit on the edge of the bed. He flinches when she sits despite watching her move the entire time. “Caleb, I’m trying to figure out what he was working on. The Soul got what they were looking for--”

“No thanks to me,” Caleb interjects. Beau scoffs.

“You were brainwashed.”

“My memory was modified, it’s different.” He rubs his arms slightly, feeling the coarse texture of the bandages on them. He hadn’t expected to have to put them back on. “Beauregard…” he sits up, swaying slightly. “Modify memory is a complicated spell. It alters some aspect of your memories, but if cannot _make_ you do anything. It essentially can only make you do something you would do in the circumstances the modification provides. I know what it feels like to have your memory tampered with, and since greater restoration is what fixed me, then… some sick, awful part of me wanted to hurt him.”

“Essek,” she confirms. He nods numbly. 

“Essek,” he repeats. The name feels soft and lovely on his tongue. Missed. Well-missed. “I hurt him very badly, emotionally and physically,” he says. “Things I… things I would _never_ do, and yet… I did.” Beau swallows.

“The nature of the initial plan was… sexual,” she says. “Is there… did you…” he looks away, ashamed.

“I would rather not talk about it,” he snaps. “In fact, I think I’ve already spoken more than I wanted to about this.”

“I’m sorry,” Beau says genuinely. “I shouldn’t have pushed. Caleb… you don’t have to help me with the book, but I want you to know I’m almost certain it wasn’t a modify memory spell. He wasn’t the type of bastard to pull the same trick twice if it failed last time. I really think he did something else, and I think it’s in that stupid book. You say you didn’t want to do those things to Essek and I believe you, and I want that proof that it wasn’t your fault.”

“Why does it matter?” Caleb asks sharply. “Why does it matter if it was _really_ my fault? Essek is traumatized because of me. I was the vessel of his abuse, whether I was the root or not. His pain and fear isn’t going to stop because you figure out in that book that Ikithon moved me like a puppet.” Beau swallows and looks at him carefully, keeping her eyes level on his. His eyes dart away-- he’s never liked eye contact.

“Caleb, it matters because Essek wasn’t the only one traumatized by that experience.” Caleb is quiet for a moment and she can see the rage in his clenched jaw and hands.

“No one raped me, Beauregard,” he spits. It isn’t the entire truth, but it is the truth for this time, and his past doesn’t matter in the grand scheme. What Ikithon did or didn’t do when he was younger is in the past, and it has no effect on how he treated Essek. She stares at him, her mouth slightly open, and it occurs to him that perhaps this is the first time he’s telling someone what he did. It should feel like penance, probably, but instead it just feels like slipping a noose around his own neck. He expects her to run, grab the others, toss him into the streets like he deserves. Instead, she casts her eyes down and rubs her hands together.

“Okay,” she says, biting her lip. She seems to be processing slowly. He can’t really blame her. “But you still.... I dunno, man. I can’t convince you to see yourself as a victim here, but neither of you came out of this unscathed. Even if you think you’re the worst person in the world or whatever, Ikithon still hurt you, so he’s worse.” Caleb sighs, scratching his arm. She keeps a close eye, but it seems to be gentle itching, not trying to tear anything open. “I don’t know what to say to make you feel better and that’s hard.” He laughs, sobered by her genuity. He hadn’t expected to get this far, so being offered grief and sympathy feels like having fingers dug into a wound. _Essek would know what that feels like_ , a sick part of his mind supplies. He kicks it away like an errant pebble.

“I don’t know that anything can be said to make me feel better,” he says honestly. “Nor should it matter. Essek is the one you should be focusing your cheering up on. He deserves it far more than I do.” Beau frowns and clenches her fists, not in anger, just feeling the strain of her knuckles as she does so.

“He won’t really talk to any of us,” she says. Caleb nods slowly.

“I worried as much,” he says quietly. He’s silent for a long stretch of time, his eyes soft and sad. “He told me he loved me.” He’s not sure why it slips out. Beau blinks, looking appalled.

“He _what_?” Caleb clears his throat.

“He told me… or maybe he told Bren and I just hoped it was me. But he said he loved me. And I still…” He squeezes his eyes shut tight and hastily wipes away the tears that gather. “I still kept hurting him.” Beau sets a hand gently on his knee. He tries not to flinch.

“Do you love him?” He laughs, a sarcastic and painful noise.

“Does it matter?”

“I think it does, yeah.” He doesn’t respond and she struggles to elaborate. “I don’t think… if you love him, I don’t think you would have done those things.” Caleb swallows hard.

“Perhaps… maybe because I wanted to do those things with him normally… the spell… warped it?” He scrubs his face with his hands hard, palms into eye sockets then down, feeling the rough scrape of his beard. He was surprised to learn that three months without his potions did not change the growth of his facial or body hair at all, though he did notice that he was regaining fat in his hips a little, a fact he was unhappy with the first time he saw himself in the mirror after coming back from the Assembly building. In part, it was the effect of not taking his potions, neglecting that part of himself that was so fundamental. They must have had quite a hold on him that he did not even try to get his prescription, even in the Sanatorium he was insistent that he needed them until they would drug him into submission. But along with it was also the implication that he kept himself well-fed during that whole ordeal, not just eating food because he had to but reveling in the fact that he could eat when and what he wanted, that he was enjoying any aspect of their time in the Assembly. It disgusted him to his very core, that he could be taking part in any kind of indulgence while Essek was suffering. “I don’t know, Beauregard. I don't know what to do." She sighs, rubbing her arm. 

"I don't know either. The journals are all I can offer, but I understand why no matter what you find, it might not help." Caleb nods slowly, rubbing the fabric of his pants slightly. 

"I have very little to lose," he notes. " _Ja_ … _ja_ , let's look at Ikithon's journals."

\---

A few hours later they’re sprawled on Caleb’s floor poring over Ikithon’s journals and books and it feels like old times, just a little. 

“I’ve found a few things that hint at him creating a new spell,” Beau says, rubbing her forehead. She wouldn’t know without checking a clock, but Caleb is vaguely aware of the fact that it’s nearly one in the morning. She glances up at him. He looks a little less terrible than he did at the start of their research, but that’s hardly saying anything considering how he’s looked for most of the time since they got out. She handed him a hair tie at some point and he’s used it to pull his hair back into a messy bun. It was longer when he and Essek left, and the thought that they cut his hair sends another small wave of fury through her. 

“Is there anything that hints toward any of his other books?” Caleb asks, gesturing to the other books laying around them. “He used to…” he rubs his eye sockets again hard. She only now realizes it’s a new habit he’s picked up. It takes her another moment to realize he picked it up from Essek-- specifically Essek in grave distress. It was awful, seeing such a powerful man look so fearful. She remembers the way he’d hidden in his hands, holding back sounds like he thought they’d hit him if he made so much as a whimper. The motion is similar. Not the same, but similar. She frowns, noting that they must have picked up some habits from each other in their time together. Not surprising, but still painful in context. “He used to put illusions over pages of books that he was intrigued by, fill them up with nonsense so no one could know where his ideas were coming from and only he understood the meaning. I would imagine that’s what he did here, but there would be some hint toward another book so he knew where to reference.” She wonders how he knows that so intimately, but she also knows now isn’t the time. She examines the passage again.

“I’m not seeing anything that would lead me one way or another,” she admits. “Would you take a look?” He swallows hard and nods, taking one of the journals from her. There’s a sort of well-hidden disgust in his expression and body language, like holding something filthy at arm’s length. He gingerly holds the journal, reading over the passage she points to, and hums deep in his throat. 

“Three books,” he says, holding up his fingers. “One: _Der Leitfaden des Großen Illusionisten zur reproduzierten Phantasmagorie_.” She blinks at the name but tries to remember it, searching through the pile. 

“Got it,” she says, holding it up. He nods, acknowledging that it’s the correct tome.

“Two: _Das abscheuliche Buch des menschlichen Leidens._ ” She bites her lip, searching through the pile again. 

“Appropriate name,” she deadpans when she finds it, holding it up. He smiles, remembering she can understand when he speaks Zemnian now.

“ _Sehr wahr._ ,” he says bluntly, and she rolls her eyes. “Three: Ah… Creating Fear and Violence in the Human Psyche.”

“Ah, that one’s in Common,” she recognizes, nodding her head slightly. She finds it more easily than the others now that she can rely on her reading abilities and she piles the three of them together, handing them over to him.

“Come here,” he bids, waving her over as he lays the journal and the three books down. “There are notes about a collection of pages in each of these books, and it is likely I will need to dispel magic on all of them…” he trails off.

“Do you have the spells for that?” He scoffs good-naturedly, almost teasing in his response.

“Beauregard, I have cast perhaps three spells in the past two months. I have more than enough spells for it.” She grins.

“There’s the Caleb I know and hate,” she says with the same good-natured ribbing. “You need components for that one?” He shakes his head. 

“Verbal and somatic,” he says proudly, his fingers twitching. He looks almost giddy and there’s a sort of lightness to his entire being that she hasn’t seen in so long. She hadn’t realized how sad it was that neither he nor Essek had cast in all the time since they’d been rescued. Magic was in their veins, it was such an ingrained part of them that it was almost worse than them not eating, not sleeping, not talking. No wonder they were both so utterly miserable. He flips through the first book, mumbling to himself in Zemnian. Numbers, she realizes. It’s so similar to the way he mumbles to himself to count coins that her heart swells a little, almost foolishly so. She’s not dumb enough to think he’s healed that quickly, but it’s nice to see improvement nonetheless.

“Need help finding the pages?” She asks. She feels awkward just sitting there, he can tell.

“Ah… _Nein._ Sorry, I am almost there.” His hands are starting to shake a little, thumbing through the pages, and Beau stops him, setting her own hand over one of his.

“Caleb, you’re shaking,” she says. “If this is too much we can stop and save it for another day.” He shakes his head firmly.

“I have to know,” he says, and his voice sounds so raw and emotional that she can’t deny him that. She understands it, that need, that desire. She swallows and nods back, taking her hand away.

“Okay,” she says, uncharacteristically soft. “Just let me know if I can help at all.” He nods.

“I will, _Danke_.” He returns to the books, searching through them with slightly less intensity. It takes him only a few more minutes before he has everything laid out, pages open and spread across the floor. He goes about casting, dispelling the pages and smiling as he sees the fake pages disappear, replaced with coded notes. He sits back on his heels. “Would you give me a moment, actually? I can give you some time to look this over… I would like to summon Frumpkin.” Beau blinks in surprise and nods.

“Yeah, yeah of course. It takes an hour, right? I’ll see what I can find in that time.” Caleb nods, moving to his bed to grab his component pouch from under it. He rummages through it as she starts to look over the books, only occasionally glancing back to check his progress. Despite her slight fears, he does grab what she vaguely recognizes as the necessary materials for the find familiar spell. She wonders what happened to Frumpkin that would require Caleb to summon him again before deciding perhaps it’s best not to ask. 

They find themselves in a similarly comfortable arrangement to earlier, Caleb going about his ritual cast and Beau reading over Ikithon’s journals and books. She finds a few notes worthy of remembering, jotting them down in her own notebook and resolving to ask Caleb to clarify on some of the more arcane-focused enigmas in their pages.

She’s surprised to find that an hour passes without fanfare, caught in the tangled web of Ikithon’s thoughts and ideas and depraved, awful experiments. She hears a soft meow. Caleb has buried himself entirely in Frumpkin’s fur, his arms wrapped tightly around the fey cat and shoulders heaving as he sobs softly, mumbling what sounds like they might be apologies. She wonders if the apologies are actually for Frumpkin at all. She feels awkward witnessing this when it clearly is meant to be private, but it would probably be weirder to slip out now… right? Caleb stops crying after a bit, pulling a very happy Frumpkin into his arms where the fey cat sits on his hind legs to lick at his tear-streaked face. It doesn’t take long for Caleb’s slowly fading sobs to become quiet and slightly weary giggles.

“Sounds like you missed him,” she muses, turning away from her reading to stretch her legs out. He nods.

“I missed him very much,” he agrees. He goes quiet, gently rubbing Frumpkin’s head until he starts to purr loudly, making Caleb crack a wobbly smile. “He’s a good boy. I have been… very lonely, as of late. I know that is my fault, though, so I am not inclined to complain about it.” Beau sighs softly.

“It’s not your fault,” she insists. “And I… I can imagine.” They’re both quiet for a long time; the only noise in the room is Frumpkin’s pleased purring.

“I miss him, as well,” Caleb says. She watches his face scrunch up after he says it, as though he regretted saying it as fast as it left his mouth. She knows who he means when he says ‘him’. She rubs her arm slightly, scooting a little closer.

“You know your relationship with him doesn’t have to be over, right?” Caleb purses his lips. 

“That isn’t for me to decide,” he says firmly. “Whether what happened was… of my own will or not, ultimately he should decide where we go from here. And as much as I wish he had said those words to me in some other context… I have to forget he said them at all.” Beau frowns, but ultimately she can’t argue with that reasoning, even if she knows it isn’t coming from the right place. Caleb’s words and points are correct, but they’re weighted with self-deprecation, as though it’s still more about whether he deserves to be forgiven and not whether Essek will forgive him.

“Okay,” Beau says finally. She reaches over to pet Frumpkin, pausing so Caleb can watch her move to avoid him flinching away. He steadies himself and doesn’t flinch when she gently rubs Frumpkin’s head. The purring continues and she smiles. “I’m not gonna tell you what to feel, Caleb, and I’m not going to force you to decide anything. I do have a couple questions about Ikithon’s notes, though, if you feel up to it?” He heaves a quiet sigh and nods slowly.

“I have a little left in me for the night, _ja_. We can pick this up tomorrow as well.”

\---

They spend the next three weeks on and off looking over everything that the Soul gathered from Ikithon-- books, notes, journals, spell equations scribbled in margins. It’s a lot to look through and understandably gets frustrating at times, but Beau can see Caleb improving day by day. He showers every morning now, and eats and drinks when she brings food and tea into his room. He’s filling back out on his potions-- Veth has been supplying them through Yeza-- and has been trimming his beard and hair when it needs to be done, which is surprisingly often now that he’s on his correct dose again. Beau feels like it would be weird for her to tell him she’s proud of him but… she is. She really, really is. 

Which is why she feels bad when they both realize they’ve hit a wall with their research. It’s been three days and they’ve found nothing new. They even brought Veth in, hopeful that maybe her alchemical knowledge could help, but… nothing. Caleb is sitting with his head in his hands and Beau is laying belly-up on the floor, staring at the ceiling.

“We need fresh eyes on this,” she says. “Maybe we should give it a rest for a day or two.” Caleb makes a noise of frustration, scrubbing at his eyes.

“ _Ja,_ maybe you are right, but it feels like we’re so close, there’s just… a few things we are missing.” Beau folds her arms.

“I thought of another option,” she says. “But I’m not sure you’ll like it.” Caleb looks up from his hands at her curiously. “We could ask Essek to look it over.” Caleb sighs softly. “I told you that you wouldn’t like it.” He shakes his head.

“It’s not that I don’t like it, I am just worried for his mental state. I… he is brilliant and I think he could be a great help, but… he hasn’t seen me since…” Caleb wraps his arms around himself almost protectively. “He hasn’t seen me in a long while and I worry that seeing me would… upset him.” Beau bites her lip.

“We could ask,” she offers, softer this time. “And if he says no we’ll leave it at that, just take some more time to look over the notes later. But I firmly believe it can’t hurt to just ask.” Caleb nods slowly.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he says. “ _Ja_ … just ask. I would rather let him make the decision.” Beau nods.

“Last I knew Jester was hanging out with Essek, so… I could pop in on them?” Caleb takes a slow, deep breath and nods.

“ _Ja_ , that sounds alright,” he says. He pulls Frumpkin into his lap and pets him gently. “I… probably shouldn’t be there when you ask, but make sure he knows I am… part of this. I don’t want to surprise him.” Beau nods, patting him on the arm. He doesn’t flinch, glancing at her hand, and instead lifts his own hand up to pat hers back. “ _Danke_ , Beauregard.” 

\---

Nearly a half hour later, Beauregard returns. There’s a smaller figure behind her and Caleb feels his heart skip a little, busying himself with petting Frumpkin and reading the journal entries again. He worries focusing any attention on Essek might make things awkward-- this isn’t exactly how they planned a reunion. They both expected more time, but then, Essek didn’t have to say yes. With his anxious, fleeting glances he manages to see that Essek looks… well, Essek still looks downtrodden enough to make Caleb feel guilty about his own recovery. Perhaps it’s in part because of Essek’s previously posh and well-kept appearance, but he looks worse than Caleb could have prepared himself for. He looks freshly cleaned, at least, wearing comfortable clothes and wrapped in a robe from the Chateau, but he also looks terribly skinny. His hair has grown longer, the curls draping over his right ear and his undercut grown fuzzy, still the same close-curled texture but clearly comprised of longer curls. He has dark circles under his eyes and he looks almost ashen, his plum skin lacking in softness and luster. Caleb would never judge him for not taking care of himself-- he’s more than due that right-- it just makes guilt sit heavy in his gut. Beau clears her throat quietly.

“Essek says he’d like to look over what we have so far,” she says. She rubs her arm and takes a seat next to Caleb. 

“Um, _ja_ ,” Caleb says quietly, carefully laying the journal he’d been studying next to the others. He tries not to notice how Essek flinches at his voice. “We’ve found a few notes that hint toward Ikithon developing a new spell or… perhaps expanding on an old one. There’s a lot of… subtlety in his note-taking, he clearly didn’t want anyone else to… be able to use or decode these spells.” Essek nods and Caleb can see his old mask slip firmly into place, the curious scholar taking the front in his pretense. Caleb’s heart sinks a little but it’s for the best. He’s protecting himself and maybe… maybe they can learn more about what Ikithon was researching and part on good terms.

“Mmm, there’s a lot here,” Essek muses. Caleb hadn’t realized how much he missed Essek’s voice. “You two seem to have done a lot, though. I’m not surprised, more just glad to see how much you’ve accomplished in such a short time.” He chuckles slightly. “I’ll admit it’s more than a little uncomfortable to look through all his notes like this. What a vile man.” There’s so much distance in Essek’s voice and it’s bothersome-- he’s clearly trying very hard to distance himself from any trauma this might be triggering but Caleb isn’t about to make it worse by pointing that out. Perhaps he should have been more insistent with Beau that Essek was a last resort.

“Do you think you can figure out why we’ve hit a wall?” Beau asks. Essek purses his lips, tapping his chin curiously. 

“I can see some flexibility in the equations here and here,” he notes, pointing to Beau’s journal. “Some of these symbols aren’t so rigidly used for enchantment. I’m surprised Bre…” He pauses and Caleb sees him swallow tightly, fear flashing across his expression. “M-my apologies. I simply…” he clears his throat. “I’m surprised Caleb didn’t notice there are elements of transmutation in here.” Caleb feels a shiver run through him. Essek must still make some of those associations in his head to slip up on names like that and the thought makes his heart ache.

“I noticed, I just wasn’t sure if there was a reason,” Caleb says quietly, keeping his tone light and agreeable. “Thank you for pointing it out, I would have… ignored my instincts otherwise. I do recognize some of these being similar to an… alter self spell.” Essek nods.

“Looks like it. That’s not one in your spellbook, right?” Caleb blinks.

“Ah… _ja._ I mean, no. I mean... No, it’s not in my spellbook.” Essek nods again, rubbing a small circle into his knee.

“It’s in mine,” he says. He makes a flourish with his hand and pulls forth his spellbook, opening it to the appropriate page. “And the equation has a bit of that in it. It’s mostly based on a modify memory enchantment, but the addition of transmutative elements could change the application of the spell…”

“Making it more invasive,” Caleb finishes. “Making it able to change more in a person.” Essek nods in agreement. 

“We still have more work to do… to be sure,” he says. His eyes dart over to meet Caleb’s and Caleb quickly looks away, almost ashamed to have been looking. 

“ _Ja_ ,” he agrees.

“So you think Ikithon did make a new spell to mess with someone’s mind more than even a modify memory could do?” Beau asks, severing the tension between them. Essek coughs slightly and nods.

“Yes,” he says. “I’m almost certain. A few of these equations seem to come from unrelated spells-- I have no doubt he made many of his own spells, but you seem to have complicated your own research. I would say…” he rearranges the notebooks a little, running a hand through his hair as he works. “These three segments are from a different spell.”

“Ah, that makes sense,” Caleb says, nodding. “Like trying to fit pieces from two separate puzzles together.” Essek nods. He glances at Caleb, not meeting his eyes but looking at his hands tentatively.

“I…” he runs a careful hand through his hair. He takes a slow, shaking breath. “Beauregard, would you mind… leaving us alone for a bit?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zemnian Translations (These are probably bad but I wanted some of Ikithon's books to have Zemnian titles. If you're German I am so sorry):  
> Der Leitfaden des Großen Illusionisten zur reproduzierten Phantasmagorie -   
> The Great Illusionist's Guide to Reproduced Phantasmagoria  
> Das abscheuliche Buch des menschlichen Leidens - The hideous book of human suffering  
> Sehr wahr - Very true
> 
> (Also if anyone knows about the Book of Vile Darkness from 3.5e? I think you might know where I'm going with this)


End file.
